


The Game of Three Generals

by LadyNorbert



Series: Elemental Chess [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Family, Gen, Multi, Murder, Other, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, POV Original Character, Pregnancy, Present Tense, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 46,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1894515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNorbert/pseuds/LadyNorbert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this final installment of the Elemental Chess Trilogy, Fuhrer Grumman and the loyal allies of Team Mustang must stop the villainous Acheron...but when he strikes in the most unexpected manner, Roy and Riza are separated, and it's up to the rest of the team to fight back. But can they act in time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Climbing Silver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to the final third of what I have decided to call the Elemental Chess Trilogy! The first part was Flowers of Antimony and the second was Brilliancy, so if you haven't read those, you might want to do that before you read this.
> 
> Those of you who have read the two previous parts will remember that Antimony had an alchemy theme, and Brilliancy had a chess theme. Three Generals continues the trend in that its title, and all of its chapter titles, are terms from shogi - Japanese chess. You may recall Breda playing shogi in the FMA manga. As with the previous parts, I will of course be providing the definitions for the terms. (A "General" is a particular shogi piece.)

_**The Game of Three Generals** _

_A variant of shogi in which each player has three Generals, which command different sections of the 'army.'_

* * *

**Climbing Silver**

_A common opening attack which involves advancing a silver piece, ideally a Pawn, along a file protected by a Rook._

* * *

Sunlight loves Winry Elric.

At least, that's her husband's opinion. It seems to cling to her - winding itself in her hair, curling around her shoulders. Her every movement is haloed.

Of course, Ed would never  _say_  this because, well, it sounds a little weird. But he thinks it often, huddling the notion jealously in his mind, something to take with him whenever he has to leave Resembool. He's thinking it now, as she's hanging out the washing in the front yard. She hasn't spotted him yet, and he's tempted to sneak up behind her, but he knows better than to think she's wrenchless.

Instead he waits for Den, who is always quick to catch his scent on the wind. Sure enough, the dog rouses from a sound sleep and starts barking, then runs to greet him, and he laughs and bends to distribute the requested scritches. Winry turns, and he looks up in time to see her face light up.

If he could only come home for five minutes, that sight alone would be worth the trip.

Her arms are as warm as he remembers, and he lingers in them, inhaling the smell of her throat. "I can't believe it's warm enough to hang laundry out," he teases.

"First warm day," she replies. "It was a cold winter, so I'm glad to get some fresh air in the linen. Why didn't you tell me you were coming home? I could have had a pie waiting."

"I thought it would be a nice surprise, me showing up unannounced and not needing automail repairs."

"You make a good point."

"Where's my boy?" It has been almost six weeks since Ed's seen his son, and roughly a month since he's seen Winry.

"Napping, thank goodness. He's started teething, so he hasn't been getting a lot of sleep." She pulls back from the embrace, finally, and gives him a searching look. "What's been happening? Have you been in Central all this time?"

"Pretty much. Let's finish hanging this up and I'll tell you about it over lunch - I haven't eaten."

* * *

Winry makes him a sandwich, and while he eats she sits and listens to him explain everything that's been happening since she reluctantly came back to Resembool.

"Hawkeye's now got a security detail," he says. "Grumman's orders. He said he should have had one on her all along - she  _is_  the First Granddaughter - but since she's military and under the constant protection of the Flame Alchemist, he figured it wasn't entirely necessary."

"I bet she didn't like that."

"That's putting it mildly! And then he said he'd been very careful in his selection of the guard, which had her just about furious - until he told her it was Havoc, Breda, Fuery, and Catalina. Once she knew it was those guys, she calmed down."

"Not Falman?"

"No, because he's still part of the Briggs unit and he's got a wife and kids back in the north. Havoc and Breda were actually part of Grumman's own security detail until everything happened in Ishval, and from what I understand he really kind of likes them. But he knew that she'd only be happy being guarded by her friends, so he transferred them to her."

"How is Roy taking this?"

"Decently. I think he's a little disappointed that Grumman doesn't think he's enough on his own to protect her, but we've already  _seen_  that this is the case. I'm even willing to admit that's not his fault, and they can't be together constantly - they sure do try, though. And he says if he's got to let anybody else take responsibility for her safety, then he's relieved it's them because he knows he can trust them." Ed shrugs. "I guess I can see that. It'd be like me entrusting your safety to Al."

"Are they all still in Central?"

"They were there for about two weeks. Grumman finally let them go back to Ishval, with the group intact. I went with them and stayed for another week - that's where I was the last time I called home - and then I went back to Central before coming here." He finishes his sandwich with a sigh. "I missed your bread."

"Has there been any...news?" Winry asks warily. She doesn't like to mention Acheron's name, he notes.

"No, and that's what Grumman's worried about. We're thinking that Acheron still believes Hawkeye to be dead - he might even think that General Flamethrower is too, after the way he blew up the building in the desert." Ed shakes his head. Some part of him still can't believe that the idiot did something so flashy, and that they'd all bought into the ruse. "But regardless of what he believes, he hasn't made a move in weeks."

"I'm assuming there's a plan?"

"There's a plan," he confirms. "I'm not sure how much sense it makes, but there's a plan. Grumman's going to try to draw Acheron out. Two weeks from Saturday, there's going to be a ball - he never had an inaugural ball because of everything that was going on, so this is going to be sort of a combination of that and a celebration of a bunch of promotions, several of which he says are overdue anyway. Everybody who helped with the whole Ishval thing is getting ranked up. Majors Miles and Armstrong will become Lieutenant Colonels, Falman makes Major, Fuery makes First Lieutenant, and Havoc, Breda, Catalina, Brosh, Ross, and Douglas all become Captains. Douglas is getting a special commendation for his role in apprehending Sikorsky, too."

"That's a lot of promotions." Winry pauses. "Wait. The Lieutenants are becoming Captains?"

"Right."

"But wasn't Riza a Lieutenant before the Promised Day? Why did she jump up to being a Colonel?"

"You know, I asked about that myself, because it didn't make any sense to me. She got triple - no, quadruple promoted when most anyone else would have only gotten promoted once." Ed shrugs. "Apparently they considered  _her_  overdue, too - she put her career on hold quite a bit in order to stay under Mustang, because if she became a Major she'd be assigned her own unit. So she had refused promotions in the past. Between that, her efforts while stuck working for Bradley, and the whole matter of the Promised Day, they just threw everything into one lump rank-up and made her a Colonel. She only accepted because they said she could keep working under Mustang in Ishval."

"That's really pretty sweet, if you think about it."

"I try not to." Deep down he agrees with her, but that doesn't mean he has to admit it.

"So are you home for good?" Winry looks as though she knows better than to think this might really be true.

"I wish. But I have some good news for you." He grins. "When I leave, you get to come with me - because we've been invited to the ball."

" _Really?_ "

"We helped in Ishval too, y'know! Grumman's got some kind of civilian thing lined up for us. Not a medal, but some fancy certificate or something."

"But Ed, what am I going to wear to a ball?"

"Well, that's why we go to Central a couple days early and you can find something you like. I'm sure Hawkeye and Catalina will help you shop, Hawkeye's a lot girlier than people tend to think."

"I'm excited." She gives him a happy smile, which is all too swiftly disrupted by the sound of a wail coming from upstairs. "Your son is awake."

"I'll go up to him. You look tired too, Win, he's been keeping you up a lot."

"Well...yeah."

"Why don't you go take a nap?" he suggests, getting up from the table. "I'll take care of the kiddo, you need some rest." He bends to kiss her cheek and whispers, "Besides, then you'll have more energy later." Grinning, he dodges her swat and ducks out of the kitchen, but he can hear her laughing as he heads for the stairs.

* * *

Lucas is so surprised by the appearance of his father that he stops crying, and Ed takes advantage of this to scoop him up. "What's going on, little man? Teeth coming in, huh?" He tries to remember when Al was teething, and how their mother had handled the situation. Some kind of herb, he thinks, but he's not sure what. Maybe there's something in one of the books downstairs.

He studies his son, eyes soft. "We're going to take care of this whole mess, Luke," he promises quietly. "We're going to get rid of this jackass and make this country what it needs to be. When you grow up, we're going to hand you a whole new world."

"Brr-ap?"

"Something like that." He bounces the boy in his arms, and laughs. "And by then Mustang will have made this a democracy, and you can vote him out of office." The idea amuses him entirely too much. "And whatever mess is still left, you'll fix - you'll be just like your mother, and be able to fix anything."

"That's sweet of you, Ed." Winry is in the hall, having paused on her way to the bedroom to nap. "But he's already showing signs of being exactly like you, which means his skill set will more likely include the ability to  _break_  anything."

He sputters. "W-well - hey! You know what somebody in your line of work ought to consider that?"

"What?"

"Job security!"

* * *

Later that night, Ed is almost asleep, reflecting on the fact that moonlight is also apparently rather fond of his wife. She nudges him lightly. "Do you think it's going to be all right?"

"Hm?"

"This whole...mess."

"Oh." He sighs. "I hope so. I feel like we've all been through enough for one lifetime."

"Yes. Just...promise me something?"

"Anything."

"Whatever happens...make sure you come home."

He turns over and wraps an arm around her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "I've already been through hell," he reminds her, "and that didn't stop me from coming home. I don't think a guy with a weird accent could keep me from coming back to you."

"I just have a bad feeling."

Ed frowns. He hates when Winry has a bad feeling, because it's usually justified - like her tears when her parents left for Ishval. "I don't know what's coming," he admits. "But our extended family, as you insist on calling them, is more than a match for this Acheron guy. We won't let him win."

"It's not that I'm afraid of him winning. I'm afraid of what we might lose in the process."

He wants to tell her not to be afraid, that everything will be fine, but he can't. He knows better. So he pulls her close, and tells her the one thing he always knows is true. "I love you. And we'll get through this."


	2. Orthogonal Movement

**Orthogonal Movement**

_When a piece moves in a straight line along a series of spaces connected by shared sides._

* * *

"Checking in, Your Excellency." Roy always does his best to sound cheerful whenever he calls the Fuhrer. Luckily, this is usually not difficult; things have been quiet since their return from Central.

"What's the news in Ishval, my boy?"

"Very little. The glass factory is expected to be finished by the end of next month; we're hoping you'll still come and tour it as planned."

"Barring any  _unforeseen circumstances_ , I will be delighted. Is everyone looking forward to the ball?"

"Oh, yes, sir. It'll be a rare treat for the men."

"Fine, fine. How's my granddaughter?"

"She's well." Roy grimaces, because he said the words with just the slightest bit of hesitation, but that was enough for Grumman to catch.

"What's wrong?" he demands. "I heard that pause. Has something happened to Riza?"

"No, no, of course not. Nothing like that. She's a little under the weather, that's all," the General admits. "Catalina's taken her to see Dr. Marcoh; I think it's just a touch of the flu. She's sometimes been dizzy and nauseated." Truthfully, Roy's been wondering if it's just stress. As much as she gets on his case not to overdo it, she takes too much on herself and has been very worried about a lot of things, not least him and her grandfather.

"Hmm." Grumman sounds just the tiniest bit suspicious. "Have her call me this evening, all right? I'll feel better once I've spoken to her myself."

"Of course, Your Excellency."

"Fine. Now, tell me what else is going on."

In all honesty, Roy enjoys his daily check-ins with Grumman. Setting aside the fact that he's married to the Fuhrer's granddaughter, he's always been fond of the good-natured curmudgeon who mentored him for so long. He wishes the situation were less tense, wishes that he didn't need to encode half of his commentary. But the check-ins themselves are no hardship. They keep their tones light and conversational, even when the words are heavy and fraught with meaning. Today, at least, this is no challenge; there is little to say.

"Fullmetal went home," Grumman reports, "but I expect him to return soon. He says he's bringing his wife for the ball and wants to come back to Central a few days early. Something about Riza taking her shopping for a gown."

"Riza will enjoy that, I think. Have you met Winry? She's a lovely girl, you'll like her."

"I haven't, but I look forward to it. I have a meeting, General, let's wrap this up. Remember to tell Riza to call me."

"Of course, sir. Have a good afternoon."

* * *

Riza and Rebecca come back to the command center about an hour after Roy's telephone conference with the Fuhrer. They keep looking at each other in a way that makes him uneasy; there's a secret here, but the looks they're exchanging aren't of the sneaky smug variety. They're more of a stunned and uncertain kind. Every time he tries to ask what happened, though, Riza cuts him off with something work-related.

The security detail is working out perfectly, although he's grateful that there really hasn't been anything from which Riza has needed to be protected since they returned to Ishval. The men of their Ishvalan unit have been very understanding of the situation, if a little envious of Douglas's forthcoming commendation, though they acknowledge he earned it. Douglas himself amuses Roy; he's not part of the official security detail, but he's become enough of a part of their group that he might as well be sometimes. He and Riza have not divulged the truth of his relationship to Hughes, feeling that it's not their secret to tell, but the others seem to have accepted him anyway. He almost certainly helped to save Riza's life, and even outside of that, he's just a good guy. They all like him.

Breda, playing with the chess metaphor, has dubbed the detail  _all the queen's men_ , which Rebecca doesn't wholly appreciate. She's not a man, she protests. Fortunately, it's been agreed that in their own home, at least, Riza is sufficiently guarded by Roy, and the crew is content to live in the barracks at the command center. He's grateful for that, for what he expects are rather obvious reasons. The whole group descends on the little house frequently anyway, for dinner or cards or conversation, but that's not official duty; that's just family.

Tonight, though, when Havoc says something to that effect, Rebecca immediately shakes her head at him.

"They need some alone time," Roy hears her mutter, and he wonders what  _that's_  supposed to mean. Not that he's complaining.

* * *

They head home, and Roy goes out to the garden. Winter is drawing to an end, which leaves him rejoicing because there are very few potatoes left. He's looking forward to some summer vegetables. He digs, with Black Hayate at his side, and wonders what's happening. He knows his wife; he knows she won't tell him until she's ready; but that doesn't stop him from wondering.

"It can't be anything too serious," he tells the dog, who looks at him intelligently. "If it were really serious, she would have told me right away. Or Marcoh would have called."

A touch of the flu, he's sure that's all it is. She hasn't been sick long; a week, maybe. He thinks about it. They've been back in Ishval for a couple of weeks, and it definitely didn't start until after they returned. If he'd had his way, she would have seen the doctor immediately, but she was sure it would blow over in a matter of a day or so. When it didn't, he pulled rank and ordered her to have a physical, and he would have threatened to get her grandfather to order it if she hadn't complied. He's surprised she humored him as well as she did; she didn't even seem angry, which makes him wonder if she really  _is_  sick.

But no, it can't be anything terribly serious. She's still doing her work as diligently as ever. Her mood is generally good, or stoic at worst. Most of the time she really does seem to be all right, in fact. She's dizzy at intervals throughout the day, but the worst of the nausea only seems to hit her in the...

The basket of potatoes falls into the dirt, and Roy almost follows it. He's doubled over from the impact of realization.

_Mornings._

* * *

When Roy comes back to the house, he enters the kitchen and finds her sitting at the table, gazing absently into the depths of a cup of tea. She has changed out of her uniform; her hair is loose, the hawk's wing fringe almost covering one eye. He's heard it said that women in her condition often have some kind of glow about them, and he wonders if that's true or not. He's finding it hard to tell, maybe because that's just how he sees her all the time.

"Riza." She looks up, and he - for possibly the first time in over ten years - can't read the expression in her eyes. It's utterly unfamiliar, and it surprises him that anything about her can be unfamiliar after so long.

"Yes, dear?" she asks, somewhat sardonically. Pet names are unusual between them, and never sound quite right. Their real names usually suffice; once in a while he even slips and calls her  _Lieutenant_ , and it always sounds much more like an endearment than anything else ever could.

"Are you-"

"Yes, dear." It's less sardonic this time.

"Marcoh's sure of it?"

"I'm what you might call 'a little bit pregnant,' if there is such a thing." Riza smirks. "As near as Marcoh can figure, this all started around the first or second night we were at my grandfather's."

"Ah." Roy almost feels embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. "So just under a month?"

"Approximately."

He moves to her side, hunkering down so they're at eye level. "And you're okay? It's not too much of a strain, after... after everything you've been through?"

"Marcoh says I'm strong enough. A few days being thrown around in the desert isn't enough to wear me down for good, General." She smiles, and this time there's nothing in it but a nervous sort of hope. "Everything's progressing normally."

"I just..." He gives a short, bewildered bark. "Really?"

"Really."

They look at each other and laugh for a minute, sort of crazy and scared and excited and dazed. And then he's kissing her, almost before he realizes that he is. He's kissing her, because this is his wife and she's just told him she's having his baby and he doesn't really know any more appropriate way to respond. He's kissing her, because even after having loved her for more than half his life he's astonished to find that he can still love her more.

* * *

A little while later, he remembers that she's supposed to call her grandfather.

He sits and listens, with a silly smile on his lips, as she informs the Fuhrer of Amestris that he's going to become a great-grandfather later in the year. He hears, faintly, the  _whoop_  on the other end of the line, and he laughs again because he understands.

"Yes, sir," Riza is saying. "Yes, sir. That's all it was...no, Grandfather, I'm fine. Yes, really. Dr. Marcoh says everything's normal. Yes. What? Oh, all right. Mm-hmm. Sure, if you want. Thursday. We'll see you then, Fuhrer Grandfather, sir. I love you too. Goodbye."

"It's rather sweet the way you've grown so attached to him in such a short time," Roy teases her once she hangs up.

"Well, if you'll recall, it didn't take me very long to get attached to  _you_ , either," she retorts. "And we all know how well that worked out."

He reaches out and puts a tentative hand on her stomach, imagining that he can already feel life quivering in there, and she covers his hand with her own. "Yes... I guess we do."


	3. Line

**Line**

_A sequence of moves._

* * *

Havoc is in hot water.

He's confused when Rebecca tells him that the Mustangs need an evening alone; that by itself isn't all that strange, considering, but normally it's Mustang who makes some kind of indication that no, the security detail shouldn't invite themselves to dinner. In this particular instance, though, Mustang seems to be as baffled as Havoc. Weirder, Becky refuses to clarify the statement, and the more Havoc presses for an explanation, the more annoyed she gets.

"Let it go, Jean! I can't tell you because it's not my secret to tell, all right?"

"You took her to the doctor earlier! Is she all right?"

"She's fine."

"She's not still suffering from what those maniacs did to her?"

"No."

"You promise?"

"Yes. For the last time, stop asking!" In point of fact, she looks pretty pissed, and Havoc wilts a little.

"Sorry."

"It's all right. I know you're concerned. Can we just go get some dinner?"

"Yeah, of course."

* * *

Unfortunately, Havoc just doesn't know how to drop the subject. They go to a little Xingese hole-in-the-wall, where the service is terrible but the food is so good that they put up with it, and sit at a table with plates of noodles and chicken. He tries to discuss something else, he really does, but there are really only two things on his mind right now and one of them involves a piece of jewelry he hasn't bought yet, so the other one keeps reasserting itself in his thoughts and, consequently, his dialogue.

After the third conversational reboot, or maybe it's the fourth, Becky blows a lock of hair out of her eyes and glares at him. "Can I ask  _you_  something?"

"What?"

"You're pretty damn fond of Riza."

Havoc blinks. That's a given. "What about it?"

"Am I just some kind of pale substitute?"

 _That_  almost makes him fall out of his chair in shock. "Are you  _what_?"

"You couldn't get the original so you settled for the next best thing, is that it?"

"What the hell would make you think that?"

"Gosh, Jean, I can't imagine - unless it's the fact that you can't go three sentences without mentioning her name tonight, and you can't just trust me when I tell you she's fine."

He fishes around for something to say in his own defense, and comes up with not much of anything that won't run the risk of making things worse. "They're like family," he tries. "Of course I'm worried."

"Even though I told you not to be."

"Well..."

Becky eats in silence, glaring at her plate, and Havoc feels...horrible. "I'm sorry," he says, and means it.

She relents, although not all the way. "Can I ask you something in all seriousness?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Well, you obviously care about her a lot, so I'm just curious. How come you never asked her out? You know, back when she was single. I know you didn't because she would have told me."

"Oh." He rubs the back of his neck. "Do you remember my telling you once that she and Mustang weren't always part of what the four of us did because they were a little removed?"

"Yeah?"

"That sort of factors into it. Back when the unit first formed, we all considered it - the four of us had a chat about this one day." He gives her a wryly apologetic smile. "Fuery was actually the worst, if you can believe it. He's not  _that_  much younger than we are, but sometimes he seems like it, and he had a terrible crush on Ladyhawk. Especially after she took Black Hayate so he wouldn't have to go back out on the street."

"I can picture that, actually."

"Well, we all compared notes. And we agreed on two things. One, that we all had a little bit of a thing for her, but two, that none of us could ever act on it."

"Why not?"

"Because Ladyhawk was never, to use your word, single. Even back then, she was already Mustang's. So we all agreed to respect that, and not mention it - well, much - and let it go. That little bit of a thing is long gone."

"You're sure?"

"Look, I love  _you_ , okay?" Becky turns red, and too late he realizes that this is the first time he's saying it in so many words. He plunges ahead anyway. "Not because you're some kind of substitute, that'd be ridiculous. Just because you're you. That's all there is to it."

"Oh...okay," she mumbles.

"And I trust you when you say she's okay."

"You'll find out tomorrow. I just think you should hear it from her."

"That's fair."

* * *

Naturally, when the news is broken to them the next day, Havoc feels like some kind of an idiot for having ever doubted Becky.

"So the king and queen are having a prince, huh?" he asks, grinning.

"Or a princess. It's a little early to tell," Ladyhawk points out, looking amused; Mustang, for his part, has never worn a bigger or more stupid smile in all the time Havoc's known him - and, all things considered, this is saying something. Actually, there are quite a few stupid smiles in evidence, and he supposes that his own might just be one of them.

"Wow!" Fuery nearly squeals, which startles Black Hayate, who has been dozing under his chair. "Um - I think that covers it, actually! Wow! Congratulations!"

"And you're okay?" Breda asks Ladyhawk, who nods. "So this is why you've been sick so much lately, huh?"

"Ugh. Yes." She puts a hand to her stomach, looking slightly queasy almost on cue.

"What do you need from us, ma'am?" asks Douglas, respectfully.

"In the short term, nothing more than what you're already doing. Except to please pardon me if my hormones get the better of me," she adds with a laugh. "I think I'm all right so far, but I've heard some stories of peculiar behavior in the later months. So if I ask you to bring me something weird to eat, or I start crying for no discernible reason, please try to just bear with me."

"Is that likely?" Mustang asks, and the grin has been replaced by a slightly panicky expression.

"We'll find out as we go, sir. I'm as new to this as you are," his wife reminds him.

"I'm sure Mrs. Hughes would be happy to offer you any advice you might need on the subject, ma'am," Douglas suggests.

"That's a very good point. Thank you, Lieutenant, I'll give her a call this evening."

"Well, now that most of the 'extended family' has been informed," Mustang says, "we should celebrate. Suppose we all go out for dinner tonight?"

This is met with a general murmur of approval. "I assume the Fuhrer knows?" Fuery asks.

"He's thrilled. Admittedly, with everything that's going on the timing could probably be a little better...but these things happen in their own time, or so I've been told." Ladyhawk smiles.

"How about your mother?" Havoc asks Mustang. "How'd Madame take the news?"

"Oh, she gave me a hard time about wanting her to feel old, or something ridiculous like that." He shrugs. "My sisters couldn't stop squealing. Madame's more excited than she cares to admit, though, I can tell. She said she wants regular status updates on how Riza's feeling."

* * *

" _Now_  do you understand why I didn't want to tell you?" Becky asks Havoc as they leave the office.

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"I'll let you live, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Well, you were being a stubborn jerk about it. But you also said you love me so I guess that counts for something." She eyes him sidelong. "No takebacks, or I  _will_  kick your ass."

"No, no takebacks." The fact that she very possibly could kick his ass is one of the reasons he loves her, as strange as he knows that sounds.

"Good."

"So...does that mean you love me too, or what?"

"You can't tell?"

"Becky, when we're together, sometimes I can't even tell for certain that I'm not dreaming."

"That's the most awkwardly adorable compliment ever," she decides. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Good. That's - that's good."


	4. Tokin

**Tokin**

_A promoted pawn._

* * *

"So the girls are off on their shopping trip?"

"Yes, sir."

"Who's escorting them?"

"I couldn't get Riza to agree to a full escort...but Havoc and Breda are shadowing them, and I believe Fullmetal is with them too."

Grumman eyes his grandson-in-law critically, making the younger man cringe slightly. Then he laughs, relenting. "That should be sufficient," he says. "I highly doubt that Riza and Catalina are unarmed in their own right." The two men are in Grumman's office, discussing matters over coffee, while the women are - as previously agreed - taking Winry Elric to find a dress for the ball.

"Perish the thought, Your Excellency." Mustang's expression clears. "Though between ourselves, I'm looking forward to Riza not being able to fit into her holsters. She's as careful as they come, but in her present condition..."

"I understand, my boy, but don't smother her. We both know that's a bad idea."

"I'm trying, sir. It's a remarkably overwhelming urge."

"Yes, I remember it." Grumman's eyes twinkle. "Have you considered names yet?"

"She named the dog Black Hayate. I really don't know that she should be allowed to name our children." Mustang chuckles, then sobers. "We did agree, however, that we won't be naming the baby after anybody."

"Really? I fully expected you to tell me that a son would be named after your friend Hughes."

"That was our first idea as well." Mustang sips his coffee, looking thoughtful. "But the more we talked about it, the more we realized that there are just too  _many_  people for this. You, for example, and your late wife, and Madame. Or there's Alphonse Elric and Princess May Chang - they both saved Riza's life, at different times. My parents - my birth parents, I mean - and Riza's parents too. We have so many friends and relations who deserve to be honored in this way. We finally decided that in order to do it justice, we'd either have to saddle our child with the most inhumanly long name in history or else come up with something that belongs only to the baby."

"I see your point." Grumman nods. "I'm still trying to decide what I want the baby to call  _me_ , however," he adds good-naturedly. "It amuses me that Riza calls me 'Fuhrer Grandfather sir,' but that's a bit much for a baby."

Mustang smirks, and contemplates the matter. "Grummy?" he suggests, mock helpfully.

"I don't think so. Well...maybe."

* * *

They play chess and speak in low voices of plans and concerns. Fuery and Douglas are on guard outside the door, assuring them that they will remain undisturbed. The young communications specialist has combed the Fuhrer's office and confirmed a lack of listening devices, so they feel reasonably secure; still, at least part of their dialogue remains encoded, always. Half precaution, half habit.

Riza joins them, when the shopping expedition comes to its conclusion. She's weighted down with bags, and looks a bit tired, but content. Grumman hums to himself with quiet amusement as her husband fusses, ushering her into a chair and getting her a cup of honeyed tea (no coffee, he says, because he's been reading and he thinks it might not be good for the baby). She bears it all without comment, but the look she gives to her grandfather speaks volumes.

"Did the charming Mrs. Elric find herself a ballgown?" Grumman inquires.

"She did," Riza replies, accepting the tea. "Becky and I got new dresses too; I wasn't planning on it, but I realized I didn't really have anything good enough for such a special occasion."

"And as the First Granddaughter, you have to present well," Mustang teases her. "Do I get to see this dress?"

"Perhaps. In the short term, though, you might be more interested in hearing about what Havoc was doing."

"What do you mean? He wasn't slacking off, was he?"

"Not the way you might be thinking." She sips, and smirks. "There's a jewelry store next door to the clothier we were visiting. I picked that one on purpose."

"The one on Nineteenth Street, right?" She nods. "That's where I bought your enga... oh." Mustang's eyes widen.

"Exactly." Riza nods again. "He spoke to me about it this morning, so that's where we went. It was easy enough to keep Becky distracted while he went shopping."

"You think he's going to do it at the ball?"

"That's the plan."

Grumman coughs slightly, and the distracted pair look at him, startled. It never fails to entertain him. He enjoys watching them interact; they occasionally tend to forget that he or anyone else is present, and instead become completely attuned to the words of one another. "So," he says, joining the conversation, "Havoc is planning to propose to Catalina?"

"Yes, Grandfather. It's a bit overdue, if you ask me."

"Interesting. Yes, I think they might suit very well."

"They do," Mustang confirms. "Havoc finally found a girl who doesn't look for flimsy excuses to break it off, and Catalina found a man who puts up with her harpy's tongue."

"Roy!"

"Sorry." He has the good grace to look sheepish. "I'm only kidding. She's much better than she used to be."

"She was only ever a harpy to you because she thought you ignored me," his wife chides. "And because she didn't realize that your little harem consisted chiefly of your sisters and other informants."

"Well, people weren't  _supposed_  to realize that. That was sort of the point."

"At least that's all behind us," Riza says, and Grumman returns the little grin she shoots in his direction.

* * *

Later that afternoon, the allies convene in the Situation Room once more, to talk about plans for the ball. Grumman finds he sort of likes calling them that; it describes them very aptly. There are two additions to the earlier group in the forms of Major Miles and the one called Scar, but that's all right. Both of his Generals would vouch for Miles's character, if he didn't already know the man could be trusted. Grumman's truthfully more wary of Scar, but he also knows that the Ishvalan was highly instrumental in the Promised Day as well as in the successful recovery of his missing granddaughter - after all, he's there to receive a commendation, same as Fullmetal.

"No one outside of this room knows the truth about the situation, correct?" he asks. "Other than Mrs. Elric and Madame Christmas, that is?"

"No, Your Excellency."

"Then let's get started. Major General Armstrong?"

"Sir!" She has been sitting at the far end of the table, arms folded and legs crossed at the knee, but when addressed she snaps into a more formal posture. He gestures for her to be at ease.

"I want you to be my personal guard for the evening." He sees the spark of surprise in her blue eyes. "It will appear to the general public that I'm merely indulging my tastes for the company of beautiful women. The truth is that you're far and away the deadliest non-alchemist I know, and that's who I want watching my back."

"Yes, sir." She looks mildly smug.

"General Mustang will, of course, be chiefly responsible for the safety of the First Granddaughter." Grumman's mustache twitches with amusement. "I'm assuming that everyone here has heard the news?"

"Not everyone," Riza corrects him. Indeed, while Fullmetal and those who have accompanied the Mustangs from Ishval look knowledgable, the others have puzzled expressions on their faces.

"I see. Well, I assume you have no objection?"

"I was half expecting you to have already told the newspapers, Fuhrer Grandfather, sir."

"I'd rather wait on that, I think. But I see no reason to keep it from those present." The Fuhrer smiles. "I've recently been informed that I'm going to be a great-grandfather later this year."

There's a flurry of excitement; Major Armstrong, predictably, bursts into tears. "My dear, dear Colonel Mustang!" he sobs, and it's only her husband's quick movement that prevents him from picking her up in a potentially fetus-crushing embrace. Instead, it's Roy who gets subjected to the hug, but Armstrong doesn't seem to mind. "This is such wonderful news! My heartiest congratulations to you both! Or should I say, to you all, for that includes you, Your Excellency!"

"Don't hug me," Grumman orders.

"No, sir." Armstrong lets go, and what's left of Mustang stumbles back to his chair. Other, less violent expressions of congratulation are offered, and Grumman has to rap on the table after several minutes to bring the meeting back to some semblance of order. Normally, he wouldn't mind in the slightest, but things are serious.

"Fullmetal, I'd like you and your wife to merely serve as extra pairs of ears on the dance floor," Grumman continues. "Nothing very dangerous; just stay alert and, if you overhear anything that sounds even theoretically problematic, report it to one of these officers immediately. Should anything go amiss, your first priority should be to secure her safety, and that of any other civilians you can reasonably shield. Under no circumstances are you to put yourself into harm's way if it can possibly be avoided." The young former alchemist looks mildly nettled, but he settles for simply nodding.

"How about the rest of Colonel Mustang's security detail, Your Excellency?" asks Fuery.

"Fuery and Breda, you take up position near the musicians. Fuery's in the best way to spot anything out of the ordinary with the sound equipment, and Breda's sharp enough to provide adequate cover while he inspects." Grumman looks thoughtful. "Douglas, Havoc, and Catalina will take it in turns to back up General Mustang. The rest of you will largely mingle. It  _is_  a ball, so feel free to dance and converse with whomever you please; you're all guests of honor, after all. Enjoy yourselves. Just be very, very alert."

Mustang nods gravely, looking around at them all. "Protect each other," he says. "And if I may, Your Excellency, I'd like to give them another order."

"General?" Grumman is curious.

"On the eve of the Promised Day, I launched my counteroffensive aided by Breda, Fuery, and Hawkeye, and they received exactly one order from me," Mustang explains. "I think it's applicable for this entire group - on the eve of the ball, and in any other incident which follows." He meets each of their gazes in turn; Major General Armstrong eyes him suspiciously but doesn't look away. " _Do not die_ ," he tells them.

"Aren't you being a little overdramatic, sir?" asks his wife, mildly.

He turns and looks at her sharply. "On the contrary. That order goes  _double_  for you."

She looks at her grandfather as if to say  _He's hopeless_ , but Grumman shakes his head. "I fully endorse this particular order," he says. "Dismissed."


	5. Empty Promotion

**Empty Promotion**

_When a piece is promoted in a move that does not capture an opponent's piece._

* * *

Fuhrer Grandfather has had the rather clever notion that Riza, being the one who was actually rescued in the Ishvalan incident, should be the one to present the allies with their promotions and commendations on the night of the ball. She's willing enough, and grateful that she's not quite showing yet (only six weeks along now, she still fits into all her own clothes).

The night of the ball is starry and cool, and she has to endure Roy's insistence that she wear a heavier wrap than the one that actually goes with her new gown, a pearl-colored silk sheath; admittedly it is sleeveless, but the collar is high and she wears elbow-length gloves so it's not as if she's cold. She fights the urge to shake her head at him. All the fussing is really very sweet, if exasperating, but as much as she loves him she senses he's going to drive her insane before the nine months are over.

However, as he swaths her in the wrap, he murmurs, "So that's the new dress...it's not hard to take off, is it?"

"Not terribly."

"Is the ball over yet?"

She gives him a playful swat and decides to forgive him for the smothering.

* * *

The presentation ceremony takes place before the ball. Grandfather says some nice things, expressing his gratitude to those who helped him to reach the spot he holds today, expressing even more gratitude to those who made it possible for his granddaughter to stand beside him.

Major General Armstrong is promoted to Lieutenant General, because of her heroism on the Promised Day. Riza knows that the other woman wasn't expecting it, but she conceals her astonishment well. The others are called, one by one, to receive their promotions, and she has to admit she enjoys presenting them. She's proud of her friends. It's a potentially dangerous night, if their enemy takes the bait, but for the moment it's enjoyable. For Scar, Edward, and Winry, there are special commendation scrolls, and Ed's big cheesy grin wins laughter from those present.

To everyone's surprise, however, the Fuhrer has one more promotion up his sleeve. "I know you weren't expecting this," he said, "but Brigadier General Mustang? You put your own health at risk to save the Colonel too."

Roy stares. "Yes, but-"

"I hereby promote you to Major General Mustang!" The old man grins mischievously as Riza puts the new stars on her husband's epaulets.

"Thank you, sir," Roy manages, looking mystified. Then his expression clears, and he returns the grin. "What about the Colonel herself? Bravery under fire, and all that."

"I thought about it," her grandfather replies, "but you already went and promoted her to 'mother,' which is considerably more interesting." That earns more than a few snickers from the 'queen's men,' and she tries to quell them with a glare but the truth is that she's laughing too.

* * *

They file into the ballroom afterward; Grandfather leads the way, General Armstrong walking beside him but refusing to take the arm he had offered, followed by Riza with Roy. Most of the military personnel of Central Command are present, with only a smattering of officers who made the trip from one of the farther outposts. They salute Grandfather, who gestures for them all to be at ease, and in short order the celebration is underway.

Riza looks around carefully. Fuery is 'helping' the musicians as directed; Havoc and Catalina are chatting amiably with Brosh. Havoc has his hand at Becky's waist and looks nervous, but when Riza catches his eye, he grins and subtly gestures to his pocket. She nods encouragingly. Hopefully he will find the right moment to pull her aside.

In fact, a very suitable moment crops up, because the Fuhrer is gesturing to his granddaughter to help him open the dancing. Sure enough, with the little First Family occupying the center of the floor and therefore the center of notice, Riza sees Havoc tug on Becky's hand, and they slip off to a curtained recess. As long as Becky manages not to shriek, they should be fine.

"Everyone is in position?" Grandfather asks quietly.

"As far as I can tell. Havoc and Catalina are having their private moment, but otherwise, yes."

"So far, all seems quiet."

"So far."

"You look beautiful, my dear. Radiant, if I may say so."

"Thank you, Fuhrer Grandfather, sir." She smiles at him.

"Do you think I took Roy quite enough by surprise, or shall I add to it?"

"What do you mean?"

"The ravishing General Armstrong informs me that she has no interest in becoming Fuhrer," he says, eyes glinting behind his spectacles. "Actually, her exact words were, 'Why should I want to become the Fuhrer of Amestris when I'm already queen in the north? Give the job to that fool your granddaughter married. But if he expects me to salute him he's out of his mind.'" Grandfather chuckles. "So I suppose that's what I'm going to do."

"You're not stepping down?" Riza stares.

"Perish the thought, my dear! No, no. But I've decided that as my successor, Roy should probably start taking on a few more of my responsibilities. I'm getting old, you know."

"You, sir? Never."

"You're a sweet girl. I'm not going to pull you two out of Ishval quite yet, though that's my intention before too much longer. With Miles now a Lieutenant Colonel, I think we could easily make him the commanding officer of the operation, and I would very much like the two of you living at the mansion once the baby comes." His face is slightly shadowed. "I missed your childhood, Riza. I want to make it up to your child."

"I think we could be persuaded," she says gently. The song draws to an end, and they come to a halt. She leans in and kisses his cheek. "Thank you, Grandfather."

"Go along with you," he says, gruffly to hide his softness.

* * *

Change, it seems, is the watchword of the evening.

Becky, to the amazement of approximately no one, returns from her little meeting with Havoc sporting some new jewelry. She hugs Riza hard around the neck and squeals a bit incoherently. "We're going to wait until after the baby comes to have the wedding," she gushes, "so you can be the matron of honor."

"That's really sweet, Becky, but you don't have to wait on account of me."

"No, we insist!" she says, and Riza doesn't argue because she knows better.

Roy is left reeling by Grandfather's decision, and his wife almost feels like she's holding him up when they're dancing. "Fatherhood, promotion, and - what do you even _call_  this? Deputy Fuhrership?" he asks, laughing weakly. "You and your grandfather have any other shocks you want to throw at me while my heart's still beating?"

"Not at present. I'll see if I can come up with anything." Riza smiles.

"Hey, do you think I could get Fullmetal to pay me back the money he owes me? He said he's holding that 520 cenz over my head until I become Fuhrer, maybe this is good enough."

"I somehow doubt it, sir."

She's not really sure what prompts General Hakuro, of all people, to ask her for a dance. She has respect for Hakuro, who was - apart from General Armstrong - the only member of High Command she knows for a fact was not part of Father's scheme. He hadn't even been in Central at the time; his focus had been the now-quiet Aerugonian war front, and Fuery describes him as having been "tough but fair." He's married with a young family, and she supposes he's just making nice with the Fuhrer.

"I understand congratulations are in order," he says.

"Sir?"

"I have it from Fuhrer Grumman himself that he's looking forward to becoming a great-grandfather."

"Oh, yes. Thank you."

"I admit I was never much of an admirer of your husband, but I will also admit that he's proven himself in the last few years." Riza nods, understanding. "He rose too quickly, too young. He made me nervous. But he's more than I always took him for, and I wish you both success."

"You're very kind, General."

"There's an up-and-coming Colonel who reminds me greatly of General Mustang, actually. A young man who served under me in the conflict with Aerugo. Have you had occasion to meet Colonel Piper?"

"I can't say that the name sounds familiar."

"I'm recommending him for a promotion soon, so by the time you meet him he may well be Brigadier General Piper. He was a real asset in the final months of our campaign; you might suggest to the Major General that he attempt to persuade him to come and help in Ishval."

 _Ah, so that's why he wanted to dance with me._  "That sounds like it might be a good idea, General, and I appreciate the suggestion. I'll mention it to my husband; we're due to be transferred back to Central sometime later this year, but they may well have use for your subordinate at Eastern Command."

True to her word, Riza relays this information to Roy, who looks contemplative. "Hakuro's pretty reliable," he muses, "and generally a good judge of character. Maybe I should look into it."

"I think if nothing else, it could make him a bit more...accepting of your eventual status."

* * *

The ball is scheduled to end close to midnight, though many people linger, trying to prolong a delightful evening. The allies, as Grandfather likes to call them, all compare notes, and reach the same conclusion: it's been disturbingly quiet. It has been a busy evening, things have  _happened_  - Lieutenant General Armstrong threatened Roy's life for inviting her to dance, among other incidents - but there has been no overt action from their enemy.

"This is really strange," Breda says with a frown. "I thought sure Acheron would strike."

"So did I," says Roy. "You don't think he's given up?"

"Not likely. But maybe he's met with some other fate since we last saw him."

"You mean he could be dead?" asks Fuery.

"It's possible. Or maybe he's set his sights on a different target. There's got to be something less difficult to conquer than Amestris, he might have decided to start smaller."

"I don't know if I'd consider that comforting," says Havoc.

"Nobody's getting complacent," says Roy. "We're all staying on high alert until further notice. Understood?"

"Aye, General!"

"I'm disappointed," Grandfather comments, joining them. "I was sort of looking forward to getting a taste of the action myself! But I do have some news, which affects you two." He nods to Ed and Winry.

"News?" Ed looks wary.

"One of my aides brought me a message from our friend the Emperor." Grandfather's smile is impudent again. "He sent the announcement of the birth of an heir to the throne of Xing."

There are exclamations of pleased surprise. "Geez,  _everybody's_  spawning these days!" Havoc yelps, and Becky elbows him in the stomach. "Sorry."

"In any case," Grandfather continues, clearly trying not to laugh, "once the Empress recovers from the ordeal, your younger brother will be able to proceed with his wedding, and then the bridal party will be making their way here."

"Oh, good!" Ed lights up. "It's about time he came home for a while."

"So he and the Princess are settling down, huh?" asks Breda with a grin.

"Yeah. There'll be a formal royal ceremony in Xing, and then they'll come here and have a regular wedding like we had, so we can all be there. I'm pretty sure you're all invited - that includes you, Your Excellency."

"Splendid! But under the circumstances," says Grandfather, "let's try to keep that fact quiet. We don't want your brother's wedding plans being disrupted like yours were."

"Oh, I don't know," says Winry, of all people. "It was a very  _interesting_  few weeks. And a lot of good things came out of it."

"Yeah," says Roy, "like me not getting a concussion."

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" Ed challenges.


	6. Ranging Rook

**Ranging Rook**

_A type of opening in shogi in which the player swings the rook over to his left side of the board, and castles the King into the right._

* * *

"Things are still quiet," Breda mutters, "and I don't like it."

The contingent from Ishval returned to the east a few days after the ball, and in the two weeks that have passed since then, he and Mustang have become slightly obsessive. Every day they comb through every newspaper; Amestris has five daily papers, one for each region, and they spend hours reading them cover to cover, jotting down headlines and details that seem likely to have relevance.

So far, there hasn't been much. Every edition had a story about the successful ball and a list of those receiving promotions. (Havoc was chagrined to be told that the Southern paper identified him as  _John Havok._ ) The Eastern paper, that region being the Mustangs' current seat of operation, took a bit more interest than the other regions did in the designation of Mustang as what's finally been termed Fuhrer Auxiliary. It was a matter of curiosity to everyone, however, as no acting Fuhrer has ever identified his own successor so far in advance.

"What do we have today, Breda?" Mustang is signing documents. "Is there anything worth noting?"

"A new restaurant is opening in South City. Drachman cuisine - supposedly a sign of improved relations between the countries."

"In  _South_  City? That's a far cry from the mountains."

"Well, maybe they got cold." Breda cracks a smile.

"What else?"

"Ed Elric's book is receiving favorable reviews and he's expected to write a second volume."

"He still owes me a signed copy. Maybe I should write a book one of these days," the General muses.

"In all your copious spare time? Forget it, sir. Besides, nobody would believe your life story."

"There's that. Anything remotely more relevant?"

"Some criticisms of your new appointment, if that's of any interest to you."

"I'm shocked," the General says dryly. "Let me guess - Grumman is being accused of nepotism."

"That, and you're being accused of marrying for political gain."

Mustang's eyebrow twitches. "Really."

"Yeah, this one looks like a keeper, actually." Breda clears his throat and reads aloud. "Listen. 'Mustang's own achievements have been sufficient to elevate him to the rank of Major General, but while he maintains a respectable public image, it's not to be forgotten that he was once the most notorious womanizer in Central City. It's very telling that he gave up pursuing the affections of multiple women only because he had the opportunity to marry into the First Family.' Obviously this wasn't written by anybody who ever spent five minutes in the same room with you, Chief."

"An op-ed piece, or a letter to the editor?"

"Op-ed. Pure sensationalism, I'd guess."

"Has Riza seen it?"

"I really don't know."

"Has Riza seen what?" asks a new voice, and they look up to see that the door has opened at this inopportune moment. Ladyhawk herself is standing there, Rebecca just behind her, and she eyes them both quizzically.

"Aw, it's just yellow journalism, boss lady," Breda says. "Somebody at the Western paper is trash-talking the General here."

"Is it at least funny trash talk?"

"I'm not particularly amused by it," her husband replies, "but it could be worse, I suppose."

Her brow furrows and she walks over to take the paper from Breda's hand. "Oh...hmm." She massages her stomach lightly, almost absent-mindedly, while she reads; Breda thinks she might be showing ever so slightly, although he knows nothing about such things and he could well be imagining it. "I see."

"What do you make of it?" Mustang is watching her, a touch wary.

"It appears to be a case of  _incorrect information_ , sir," she replies, and his expression relaxes into a grin.

"Just like all those people who think I'm useless when it's raining?" he challenges.

"Hmm. Exactly."

Breda exchanges a look with Rebecca, who shrugs. They've evidently missed something. But Ladyhawk is unruffled by the article, and Mustang's own mood has clearly improved because of that, so he supposes it doesn't matter. All that matters is that  _she_  doesn't believe the rantings. Of course, Breda never thought she would - the queen knows her king too well for that - but he's glad she isn't upset.

* * *

Later in the week, Douglas helps them with the article scouring. Breda likes Douglas; he's smart but quiet, loyal but inobtrusive. One thing that the heavier man appreciates is the fact that Douglas never assumes he's going to be a part of whatever's going on, even though Mustang has formally added him to Ladyhawk's Fuhrer-appointed security detail too. He always waits to be included, invited, and he usually is. Riza's in the office too, writing out memoranda in her tiny, elegant script.

"What about this one?" Douglas asks. "Some more promotions being announced."

"Let's see it." Mustang takes the page and flicks his dark gaze over the print. "Piper... Colonel, what did you tell me about a Piper?"

"Andrew Piper? General Hakuro spoke highly of him. Did he make Brigadier?"

"Yes, as of Monday."

"Hakuro thought he might be an asset to the work here in Ishval. I suggested Eastern Command instead; I know you and Grandfather are a bit touchy about who gets assigned here, all things considered." She gives them all a wry little smile.

Mustang walks over to the large bulletin board where they've been pinning clippings that might have relevance. "I just don't understand it," he grumbles. "It's been almost three months since the desert extraction. There hasn't been a peep out of him! Where is he, what's he planning?"

"You'll figure it out, si-" Ladyhawk's expression changes swiftly, and she looks pained. "Excuse me, gentlemen." With as much dignity as she can muster, she hurries out of the room. Mustang turns, catches sight of her retreating form, and sighs.

"Is she sick again?" Breda guesses.

"Yeah. She's sick a lot."

"Kind of weird, considering she's always been in such good health before."

"Eh, it's not too unusual, from everything I've read. It'll ease off in a few weeks, probably. I just hate that she's so uncomfortable."

"When will she have to go off active duty?" inquires Douglas.

"I don't know yet, but I am  _really_  not looking forward to that." Mustang grimaces. "She is not going to be a happy soldier if I have to tell her that she needs to stay home all day. At least by that point, I'm hoping we'll be back in Central."

* * *

The rest of the week slips by with still no real news. Some things keep them all tolerably entertained; the birth of the Xingese heir is old news, but the impending arrival of the royal party that will accompany Alphonse Elric and Princess May Chang is widely reported. They are now married, in the Xingese tradition, and Resembool is all aflutter (according to the Southern paper) to receive its native son and his royal bride, and a large contingent of soldiers (says the Eastern paper) will escort them across the desert. The Emperor and Empress long to join them, but so soon after the birth, it seems improbable. The Central paper notes that little Prince Fu was named in honor of his great-grandfather, who met his death in the events surrounding the Promised Day and the effort to save Amestris, although of course the exact details are left vague.

As has been the norm since before the ball, Grumman and Mustang converse daily. Part of the call is always devoted to the Fuhrer grilling his Auxiliary about his granddaughter's well-being; Mustang doesn't have a lot to report about the First Great-Grandchild, in truth, except that by all accounts everything is normal and mother and child are both healthy. He glosses over Ladyhawk's frequent nausea.

"He's as confused as we are," Mustang says after ending one such discussion with his grandfather-in-law. "He was so sure that the ball would draw Acheron out."

"Well, he must be reading the papers," Breda points out, "assuming he's alive and in the country. So he almost certainly knows by now that you and Ladyhawk are still alive."

"Yeah, I'm kind of sorry I missed seeing the look on his face." The General chuckles.

"Does the Fuhrer have any new ideas?" Douglas asks.

"One. I'm not sure I like it too much. Where are Havoc and Fuery and Catalina?"

"Captain Catalina escorted Colonel Mustang to the mess for a cup of tea to ease her stomach. I believe Havoc is at the shooting range, and the Colonel asked Fuery to take Black Hayate outside."

"Do me a favor, Douglas, and round them all up? I may as well explain this to everyone at once."

"Sir." He salutes, and leaves at once. Breda watches Mustang, waiting for an explanation.

"You're wondering why I don't like the Fuhrer's plan."

"Thought crossed my mind."

"Because it's very risky, and neither he nor I care to take this particular risk if we can help it. But he thinks it might be our last, best chance to draw out the enemy." Mustang sighs. "He's going to publicly announce the impending addition to the family. We've been keeping it under wraps until now, but..."

"I see."

"Is there anything in the papers today, while we're waiting?"

"Actually...yes." Breda hands him the Southern paper. "Railway accident near Liore. Could just be that and nothing more, but you never know. Few casualties, luckily, but many wounded."

Mustang reviews the article, and is still engrossed when Fuery arrives, shortly followed by Havoc. "You're right. Could be relevant or not." He hands the paper back to Breda. "Add it to the others, just in case."

"Aye, Chief."

Douglas finally returns with the women. "All right. I've talked with the Fuhrer, and... I have to admit I'm not crazy about the plan he's decided on. But we're running out of ideas to draw out the enemy." He shoots an apologetic look at his wife. "Tomorrow, Central Radio will broadcast the news as usual, and the news will include the formal announcement that the First Granddaughter is expecting. I imagine the papers will pick it up shortly afterward."

Ladyhawk, as he predicted, does not look especially happy. "Well, we knew it had to come out eventually," she says, trying to be practical.

"As a result, I'm increasing your security detail, Colonel. I don't want you going anywhere unescorted, not even here inside the command building. At least one of us is to be with you at all times." He sees her opening her mouth to argue, and cuts her off. "I'm  _not_  taking chances."

They glare at each other for a moment. Breda, for his part, is entirely on the General's side. He watched the man almost come totally unglued from fever and grief when she was kidnapped; he never wants to go through anything like that again, never wants his superior officer to endure anything like that again. He does sympathize with Ladyhawk, because he knows she doesn't like spending her entire life under surveillance, but he remembers too well how they all felt when their queen was missing, and that was  _before_  the advent of their prince or princess. He'd much rather inconvenience her than...well, than the alternative.

After a few tense minutes, she relents. "I guess if nothing else, it should help keep you from getting sick again if you know I'm well protected," she grumbles. "All right. I understand the reasons, sir, I'm just not a great admirer of the situation."

"I know, and I'm sorry. But if the choice comes down to you being happy or you being alive, I would really prefer it if you were alive and annoyed."

"Well, you're in luck." She gives him a wry smile. "That's an adequate description of my current condition."


	7. King's Temple

**King's Temple**

_The squares which are one step diagonally forward from the King, well known to be that piece's biggest weak point._

* * *

"So is she showing yet?"

Roy laughs at his grandfather-in-law. "Yes, if you can believe that. It's kind of cute."

"She's at what, now? Eight weeks?"

"Almost nine, to be precise."

"That's a little early, isn't it? My wife didn't start showing until well into the fifth month."

Roy pulls out his already-well-worn copy of  _Look What You Did to Me: What Every Expectant Father Needs to Know_. Falman had sent it to him from Briggs, with a note swearing up and down that the book was a lifesaver. "Well, from what I've been reading, it's a little unusual but not too much. Some women show earlier than others. Between ourselves, Your Excellency, her appetite is what surprises me the most; she's hungry more often than not."

"You'll find she's more energetic in the middle part of the pregnancy, too." Fuhrer Grumman sounds terribly amused. Roy wonders if that means what he thinks it means, but can't bring himself to ask. He'll peruse that part of the book later.

"We did see the write-up in the paper," he says instead, "where you announced your pending great-grandfatherhood. Riza cut it out and put it in the baby book."

"She has a baby book already?"

"Mm. Rebecca bought it for her."

"Have they gone shopping for maternity clothes yet?"

"Not yet; it's on the list for the next time we're in Central."

"Well, let's arrange that, shall we? Suppose you come for the weekend."

"I think she would like that."

* * *

She does, when he tells her over lunch. "Just us?"

"Just us." Roy smiles. "I figured the rest of your detail could use a weekend off-duty, especially the ones with a wedding to plan."

"It's really becoming obvious that Becky's been wanting to get married," she confides. "The other day she brought out this carton of wedding magazines dating back at least five years."

"They make magazines for weddings?"

"You have  _no_  idea."

"Well, about this trip to Central," he says, "I think, given the recent announcement and all, we should probably travel under fake names - maybe even disguise ourselves."

"You want me to wear my hair down and put on glasses again?" Riza smirks.

"It does seem to deflect attention," he points out. "I could borrow a pair of dark glasses from Miles, and slick my hair back under a hat. We don't have to be dramatic about it, just low-key. I don't want anyone outside of our friends to know that we're on a particular train, just in case anybody - Acheron or otherwise - gets any ideas."

"Is this going to be part of our new normal?" she asks in a slightly defeated tone.

"I'm hoping not. In the short-term, though, yes."

"I'll ask Mason to get us the tickets," she says. "He's not part of our regular security detail, so it might not attract anyone's attention if he buys them."

* * *

They travel under the alias of  _King_ , and he calls her  _Elizabeth_  in front of people in that same old playful tone he used to use, and not much of anybody pays any attention to them whatsoever. Still, they both breathe easier when the train pulls safely into Central Station on Friday morning. Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong greets them - not effusive, not dangerously affectionate, but with the quiet dignity that he can so often make people forget he possesses.

"It's nice to see you, Lieutenant Colonel," Riza greets him.

"And you, Colonel. You have that charming maternal glow!"

"Do I?" She smiles, and Roy is amused by how very nearly self-conscious she seems about it.

"His Excellency is very happy that you've come for a visit," Armstrong continues. "My orders are to take you both to the executive mansion, and then to Central Command. It's my understanding that he's largely cleared his schedule for the day."

"I hope no one accuses him of slacking," the Fuhrer's granddaughter comments, casting a sly glance at her husband.

Armstrong drives them to the Fuhrer's mansion, where Anderson, the chief of staff, fusses a bit about making sure Riza will be comfortable. He's a sweet fellow, really. They return to the car, leaving their bags at the house, and head for the command building, where an unfamiliar face meets them on the steps.

"Ah." Armstrong salutes. "Major General Mustang and Colonel Mustang, allow me to introduce Brigadier General Piper. General Piper, may I present the Fuhrer Auxiliary and the First Granddaughter."

"It's an honor to meet you both," he says with apparent delight. The newly-appointed Brigadier is tall and wiry, perhaps fortyish although he could pass for younger. "I have been asked by Fuhrer Grumman to let you know that he'll be happy to take lunch with you both in the mess; he has an audience with the Cretan ambassador immediately afterward, but then hopes to have a private meeting with you in his office, General Mustang."

Sure enough, Grumman meets them in the mess several minutes later, all smiles at the sight of Riza's slightly distended belly. "You look radiant, darling. You're in good health?"

"Usually." She smiles weakly. "Right now, I'm  _starving_. What's good to eat?"

"I'm told the roast beef is supposed to be good today."

They sit down, and Riza eats...everything. Roy watches her with a look of bafflement. "I thought you hated mustard."

"I do, usually. But today it just smells so good," she replies, slathering it onto her sandwich. She adds a few apple slices to the beef and starts eating. Roy glances at Grumman, who merely shakes his head. Well,  _Look What You Did to Me_  does have a whole chapter on the odd dining choices of a pregnant woman; he makes a mental note to review it again.

They talk about nothing much, given their unsecured surroundings - mostly baby natter and a bit about Havoc and Rebecca's wedding plans. Riza finishes Roy's slice of pie, topping it with olives; he shudders, but tries not to let her see.

"Well, if you two will excuse me, I've got my meeting with the ambassador from Creta," says Grumman, rising. "I'll see you in my office at half past three, my boy; I'm sure Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong would be more than happy to keep Riza company while we're meeting. Not that I don't want you there, my dear, but it's likely to be frightfully dull and I wouldn't want you to doze off in one of those awful chairs."

"It's fine, Grandfather. I'll see you at dinner."

They salute him, which he waves off, and once he's out of sight they look at each other. "Central's having good weather," says Roy, thinking. "Could I interest my wife in a stroll over the grounds?"

"Probably. She kind of enjoys walking with you."

* * *

They wander around the grounds, losing track of time. Roy finds it halfway amusing to know that they're treading the same paths they once took as Colonel and Lieutenant; he wonders, had someone told him then what his life would be like now, whether he would have believed them. He doubts he would have dared. They come across a few officers here and there whom they remember from those days, and pleasantries are exchanged and polite congratulations offered. It's a good day.

At least, it's a good day until Riza turns faintly green.

"Roy," she mumbles, "I think...ugh..."

"Sick again?" His arm is around her waist in a second, his free hand catching hers. "Come on...the latrine's this way."

"You can't come in the ladies' room," she protests feebly.

"Who's going to court-martial me for helping my sick and expectant wife? You can't go alone."

She blows a lock of hair out of her eyes, and it sounds like a snorting dragon. "Fine."

They get maybe six paces and Roy figures out that this isn't going to work too well, so he scoops her up. He tries very hard not to jostle her while he hurries her to the restroom, but it's not exactly easy and she's quite agitated by the time they get there. She's still nauseated enough to hunch over the toilet; he's crammed into the stall with her, pulling back her hair and holding her head and trying to say soothing things.

Between heaves, she mutters at him. "Thanks..."

"You're the one doing all the work with my kid, this is the least I can do."

"You know...you're right."

"You could at least  _pretend_  to argue!"

The worst of the nausea passes, and Riza gives him a blearily affectionate look. "What...what time is it? Are you going to be late?"

"Oh, damn." He pulls out his watch. "Yeah, probably. But he's your grandfather, he'd be the last person to complain when I explain why."

"True..."

"Will you be all right now?"

"I think so."

He helps her to stand, and they manage to get out of the stall and over to the sink, where she washes her face with cold water and rinses out her mouth. "Let's go find Armstrong," Roy says, "so I know you're in good hands while I'm in the meeting."

Riza opens her mouth to say something, but abruptly, they're both thrown off balance by a tremor that seems to shake the entire building. She catches the sink for support, and Roy instinctively wraps both arms around her.

Once things stop trembling, they look at each other. "What the hell was that?"

"I don't know!"

"Come on...let's get out of here."

As they exit the restroom, they hear a siren echoing through the corridors, and running feet tell them that whatever has happened is serious. They exchange glances again, and Roy knows that they're both thinking the same thing: Acheron has struck at last.

He detains a passing soldier, who shudders to a halt and salutes. "What's going on, Sergeant?"

"Explosion, sir!"

"Where?"

The young officer shoots a frightened glance at Riza, evidently recognizing her, and gulps. "I'm...I'm not sure, sir, ma'am. I'm sorry."

"Thanks. Go on." The soldier nods and scuttles down the hall. "Come on...let's go find your grandfather."

"Roy, what if-"

"Come on," he says again, one arm locking itself around her shoulders.

They make their way through two more halls, their progress slowed by the movement of others around them and by the need to dodge debris where one object or another has fallen and broken. As they turn another corner, a voice cries out, "General Mustang!"

They turn. Armstrong is rushing toward them, his face the picture of anxiety. "I've found them!" he shouts over his shoulder at someone they can't see. "Relay that message - I've secured the First Granddaughter and the Fuhrer Auxiliary!" He looks like he might physically pick them up, in fact.

"What are you talking about, Armstrong? What do you mean,  _secured_  us?"

"We have to get you to a safe location. My orders are to move you both to the Crisis Room."

"Why? What's happened? Where's the Fuhrer?"

Armstrong's lip trembles, and suddenly he wraps them both in an unexpectedly gentle embrace. "I'm so sorry..."

" _Why?_ " Riza demands, pulling back as best she can. Her voice is high-pitched and uncharacteristically alarmed.

"The Fuhrer was last seen entering his office...which was the origin point of the blast!"


	8. Four Heavenly Kings

**Four Heavenly Kings**

_The four dots on the Shogi board._

* * *

It takes entirely too long to travel from Ishval to Central, in Havoc's opinion.

The call from Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong has them all understandably freaked out, not least because it was partially rendered unintelligible by the big man's sobs. They understood enough of it, though - there was an attack on Central Command, the Fuhrer is missing in action, and they need to get there as soon as possible. Mustang's orders.

They would have gone anyway, so the order wasn't really necessary.

He, Breda, Fuery, Becky, and Douglas decide to make their way northwest as soon as they're able to get on the train. Lieutenant Colonel Miles isn't keen on sending Douglas with them, but Havoc reminds him that they are the First Granddaughter's security detail, and if they made sense out of half of what Armstrong was telling them, that's got to take priority right now. So Miles relents, and they're on their way. It's a late-night train; they can expect to arrive sometime around dawn.

It's a tense ride. Though they're closeted in one of the military compartments, they speak in low voices and try not to be overheard. How far the news of the attack has spread, they don't know, but they don't want to incite any sort of panic.

"Do you think he's...dead?" Becky asks.

"Doesn't sound like there's much hope of otherwise," Breda replies darkly. "Armstrong  _did_  say the office exploded, right?"

"Right," Fuery confirms, gloomy. "That, unfortunately, was one of the things he said that I could understand. I think that was as far as he got before he started sobbing."

"This is just surreal." Douglas looks sort of bewildered, and Havoc realizes that, excepting only the abduction of Ladyhawk, this is probably the first real crisis he's endured in his career - he was most likely still in the academy when the Promised Day happened.

"I wish I could say you get used to it, but you really never do," he tells the younger soldier.

"I think I'm glad of that. Getting used to something like this would mean it happens an awful lot."

* * *

They reach Central and make for the command building. Armstrong is waiting for them on the steps, which saves them the trouble of trying to find him in the haze of morning. "Captains," he intones gently, "thank you for coming. I've been watching since before daybreak, hoping you would be able to join us here."

"Thank you for calling us," Havoc replies. "Is there any news?" Unspoken;  _is there any hope?_

Armstrong bows his head. "The Fuhrer's office was completely decimated by the blast...most everything inside was incinerated beyond recovery or even recognition." Unspoken;  _including him._

Becky gasps, and covers her mouth with her hand. Fuery swallows audibly.

"Where are-"

"The Fuhrer Auxiliary and the First Granddaughter are both in the Crisis Room, where I hope they managed to take some rest at last," Armstrong says. "It was a naturally sleepless night for them both. I'll take you there directly, of course."

Brosh and Ross are guarding the door of the Crisis Room, which makes Havoc feel better at once; he's not inclined to trust anyone outside of 'the allies' just at the moment. They trade brief, troubled greetings. Inside they find Ladyhawk, staring into the depths of her tea with an expression so wretched, it breaks Havoc's heart. She looks up when they enter, and her aspect changes.

"Oh, you came..."

"Of course we did," says Breda, gruffly. "We  _are_  the queen's men. Where else would we be?"

To their profound horror, Colonel Riza Hawkeye Mustang's face crumples and she starts to  _cry_. Not a single one of them has ever seen her do this in all the years they've known her, and no one entirely knows what to do or how to respond. "I'm sorry," she mutters, wiping at her cheeks. "It's hormones on top of everything else... but I'm just so glad to see you all... Roy will be too, he'll be back in a minute."

"Ladyhawk, after the night you've just had, nobody's going to blame you for crying," Fuery says gently.

"I know, but I hate it..."

The door opens again, and Armstrong precedes Mustang into the room. They all snap to attention and salute, and he waves them off half-irritably, half-appreciatively. "Thank you for coming, men," he says. "I wish it were under better circumstances. Riza, eat your breakfast."

She looks back at the food on the table. "I'm not hungry."

"Eat it anyway. Please," he adds, less commanding officer and more concerned husband. Turning back to the rest of the group, he smiles thinly; he looks exhausted. "I wish I had good news to offer, but right now the investigation is still ongoing."

"Your orders, sir?" asks Armstrong.

Mustang blinks. "My orders?"

"You are the Fuhrer Auxiliary," the muscled man reminds him. "In light of the current situation, and until we receive confirmation otherwise... you are now the leader of this country."

Havoc feels kind of sorry for the Chief, who looks stricken. "Gah." He rubs his forehead. "This isn't how I wanted it to go... all right, fine. Rebecca, you stay with Riza at all times. The rest of you, see if you can contribute to the investigation. Generals Hakuro and Piper are spearheading it, so offer your assistance to them; I don't know if they'll  _let_  you, seeing as Hakuro plays things pretty close to the vest more often than not, but it can't hurt to offer. Armstrong, do your men at the door need to be relieved?"

"No, sir."

"Very well. Everyone come and have something to eat first, you had a long journey."

No one has much of an appetite, but they do their best to obey the order, if only because maybe they can get Ladyhawk to eat more by sharing the meal with her. It does seem to help a little. "Who is this General Piper, anyway? I know you recognized his name when it was in the paper," says Breda.

"He's some fledgling of Hakuro's; when they were dancing at the ball, he recommended the guy to Riza for the eastern detail. But instead, from what I'm told, he's been acting as Grumman's secretary."

" _Secretary_?"

"Well, adjutant. The regular aide has been out on bereavement leave; his father died earlier this month and he had to travel to South City for the burial and to see to his estate. Grumman told him to take as long as he needed, and then accepted Piper as a temporary replacement on Hakuro's recommendation."

"And how do we know we can trust him?" asks Fuery bluntly.

"We don't. But in the short term, we have to hope we can."

"Can we trust Hakuro?" asks Breda.

"Probably," Mustang admits. "He's never been friendly to me, but he's always been relatively honest. His support of Bradley was sincere; he wasn't involved in the Promised Day plot, he was just being loyal to the Fuhrer because he was the Fuhrer. Since Grumman took the seat, he's been the same way toward him."

Ladyhawk hiccups a bit, and Havoc realizes she's struggling not to cry again. The First Family has been broken, and the First Granddaughter - or is she the First Lady now? - is feeling the loss. The General reaches over and grasps her hand on the tabletop; neither speaks, but then again, they've never needed to speak to understand each other. They're grieving together.

"Excuse me," she says quietly, pulling her hand away and rising from the table. She shuffles to the far side of the room, shutting herself in the little attached bathroom. The retching is audible, though muffled. Silence reigns over the breakfast table for a few minutes.

"How's she doing?" Havoc finally asks Mustang, quietly.

"About as well as can be expected, all things considered." His own face is slightly pale. "I wish there was something I could do for her, but it might as well be raining for all I'm able to help."

"There's not really anything anybody can do, Chief. You can't blame yourself."

"You're here with her and she knows you love her," adds Becky. "That's all anybody can ask."

"It doesn't seem like enough."

"Well, maybe we can make up the difference," Fuery offers.

"Yeah. We're not Grumman, but heck - we're still, y'know, kind of family," Breda points out around a mouthful of toast.

The door opens. "More than kind of, Breda," says Ladyhawk in a hoarse voice. "You  _are_  family. You always have been." She still looks dangerously close to tears, and as she takes a step forward, she stumbles just the slightest bit. Mustang's out of his chair before anyone can blink and across the room, arms sliding around his wife to steady her. She looks up at him, silently grateful, then back at the rest of them. "Having you here means more than I can tell you."

"Like Breda said, we're the queen's men - and the king's too," says Fuery, and Havoc nods. "There's nowhere else we could be right now."


	9. Dancing Pawn

**Dancing Pawn**

_A tactic involving the use of five Pawns to repeatedly fork the three Generals. Even if the opponent attempts to save his Generals, the Dancing Pawns will be able to successfully capture at least one of the Generals._

* * *

Douglas is thoroughly unsurprised when General Piper politely declines their offer to help investigate. Hakuro is nowhere in evidence when they present themselves to Piper; apparently he's left the entire matter to his former underling.

"General Hakuro needed to return to the Aerugonian front," Piper explains. "We received word of some potential trouble stirring again down there."

"Trouble? But we signed a peace treaty!" Breda objects.

"So did Drachma, but they still get it in their heads to invade Briggs every once in a while." Piper shrugs. Douglas has to admit he has a point.

"Well, by the request of both the Acting Fuhrer and the First Granddaughter, we're here to offer our assistance in the investigation," says Havoc.

"The Colonel has my deepest condolences for what's evidently happened to her grandfather," Piper replies gravely. Douglas watches his eyes - Uncle Maes always said that it's hard for the eyes to support the mouth when it lies, a maxim he has found holds considerable truth - but the sympathies are reflected even there. "But I already have a team of experienced investigators working on the matter. You may assure the Acting Fuhrer that we will be exceptionally thorough in our examinations. I will give him nothing less than my best efforts."

"Could we maybe see the office anyway?" Breda offers. "A fresh perspective might help."

"I'm very sorry, and I appreciate your willingness to help," says Piper. "I know how loyal Mustang's men are and how much you would want to do anything to help find the Fuhrer. But the truth of the matter is... and I feel terrible saying it... there really isn't much to find. Most everything in that room is ash and cinder."

"Excuse me, General," says Douglas. He's thinking hard. "I apologize, I'm sure this will sound presumptuous. But we've been given to understand that you've been the Fuhrer's acting adjutant in recent weeks. How is it that you were able to escape?"

Piper blinks at him, clearly startled by the inquiry. "Pure luck," he says after a moment. "The Fuhrer asked me to prepare coffee for his meeting with Major General Mustang. I needed to go down to the storeroom in order to replenish the supplies. Otherwise, you're correct; I would have been in the office as well, and would have certainly met the same fate."

Douglas nods, filing that away. He doesn't trust Piper, of course, despite Mustang's assertion that they need to hope that they can. It's nothing altogether personal, he just doesn't trust anybody at this point outside of 'the allies.'  _We should have brought Black Hayate with us - he'd be able to sense if this guy was on the level._  In their anxiety over the situation in Central, they hadn't thought to bring the Colonel's dog until it was too late, and he's still in Ishval in the care of Lieutenant Colonel Miles.

* * *

They return, eventually, to the Crisis Room, which the new Acting Fuhrer is using as an office. He's surprised to learn of Hakuro's departure, and of the situation on the Aerugonian front. "Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong," he says, turning to the hulking figure, "please make sure it's understood that anything of that nature is to be brought to my attention immediately."

"Yes, sir."

"Where are the girls?" asks Havoc.

"I had Brosh drive them back to the Fuhrer's mansion. Riza will be more comfortable there."

"I'm surprised she agreed to that," Breda says with a chuckle.

"So am I," Mustang admits. "Rebecca had to help me talk her into it. I told her I'd have Armstrong serve as my temporary adjutant, since she's really not in any condition to do it right now - she's upset and hormonal. Grief alone she could work around, but the combination of grief and pregnancy is overwhelming even  _her_  professionalism. She's not happy about it, but she finally conceded the point."

"I'm more surprised that you're willing to let her out of your sight, to be honest," says Havoc, with the ghost of a grin.

"Well, it's hardly the ideal circumstance, but the Fuhrer's mansion is well guarded and Brosh will stay there with them until he's relieved." He takes a long drink of coffee; Douglas wonders just how much he did or did not sleep last night. "So Piper said no to you helping with the investigation?"

"Wouldn't even let us see the office," Fuery confirms.

"All right." Mustang taps his chin thoughtfully. "Havoc, Breda, Fuery - see what you can find out without stepping on anyone's toes. You know the drill. Douglas, I'd like you to head over to the mansion and relieve Brosh, if you will; he was standing guard here for a while before I sent him off to play chauffeur, and he probably needs a break."

"Sir." Douglas salutes. "How do I get there, sir?"

"Ross will drive you; she can bring Brosh back with her and then they can both go off-duty for a spell."

* * *

When Douglas relieves Brosh, he finds the Colonel on the telephone.

"Yes...of course, I'll let you know. Thank you very much for calling, I really appreciate it. All right. You take care too." She hangs up, looking only slightly emotional, and acknowledges Douglas's salute. "That was Edward Elric," she explains, waving for him to be at ease. "It's made this morning's papers, of course. He wants to come for the...the service."

"Ma'am?"

"I'm not deluding myself into thinking that there's going to be anything to find." Catalina appears in the doorway and gives her friend a fresh cup of tea. "They'll schedule a memorial service, a funeral without a burial, and that will be that."

"I didn't really get the chance to say so before, ma'am," says Douglas, sitting down at her urging. "But I am... terribly sorry for your loss. Your grandfather is - was - an excellent man."

"Thank you."

"I know there's not much I can do, but I want you to know that you and the General still have my unconditional support."

Her eyes are warm. "You're a good man, Douglas." She takes a drink of tea and, perhaps unconsciously, rubs her stomach. "So since you're here...what's going on at Central Command? Are the others helping with the investigation?"

"General Piper very respectfully declined the offer. He says he's got a crew of trained inspectors already at work, and he doesn't want to risk contaminating evidence with too much interference."

"Hm." She doesn't look very impressed. "I have to admit, I wonder what they think they're going to find. From what we've been told, it doesn't seem like there's a great deal of evidence left intact."

"No, ma'am," he agrees.

"The thing that scares me," she tells them both, "is that Roy would have been up there too, when it happened, except that I got sick and he refused to leave me alone." She glances down at her stomach. "It begs the question, in my mind - who was the real target? Was it my grandfather, or was it my husband? Or both?"

"Well, we've already seen that Acheron has a vendetta against the country in general, from what he said to you and the Major General," Douglas says. "My guess would be both, as much as I hate to say it."

"I think he's right, Riza," says Catalina. "We're just really lucky that your pregnancy's being difficult."

The Colonel sighs. "My baby hasn't even been born yet, and already saved his or her father's life. I really hope this isn't setting a precedent."

* * *

Colonel Mustang is correct in her assessment. Less than two days later, Fuhrer Grumman is formally pronounced to be dead, and accorded the highest honors Amestris can bestow. Edward and Winry Elric arrive from Resembool to attend the memorial; Lieutenant General Armstrong and Major Falman likewise arrive from Briggs, and Lieutenant Colonel Miles comes from Ishval. He brings Black Hayate, which is possibly the only balm anyone could offer to the grieving granddaughter's wounded heart. All the soldiers are clad in their formal black uniform, the one that is only to be worn for funereal occasions, and the weather is overcast and dull. Amestris itself seems to be in mourning. The Mustangs - the Fuhrer's only family - are given place of honor at the front of the procession, with the General called upon to euologize his grandfather-in-law.

"Fuhrer Grumman was a man of peace, and a man of principle," he says. "Like any good chess player, he was clever about keeping his true intentions hidden until the right moment, but his primary concern was always what was best for our country. I had the unique good fortune to be able to call him my mentor, and my friend, and my grandfather by marriage; I could not name for you a living man whom I have ever respected more. It is a loss to us all that we were only able to have him in the Fuhrer's office, and in our lives, for these few short years."

The Colonel keeps her face carefully averted during her husband's speech; she doesn't want to cry in public. He returns to her side and she takes his arm, pressing her face against his sleeve as the twenty-one gun salute begins. To a man, the black-garbed soldiers click their heels and salute sharply until the gunshots die away. A rumble of thunder echoes faintly in the distance, as though the world itself is determined to have the final word.

The post-event reception is held at the Fuhrer's mansion, now the Mustangs' residence. The members of the security detail form a loose perimeter around the Colonel, who sits in a high-backed chair drinking a glass of cranberry juice. Winry Elric sits next to her, saying little but offering the comfort of her sympathetic presence, and it's evident that the elder of the two women is very grateful to have her there. Not for the first time, Douglas thinks to himself that they could almost pass for sisters. Their husbands are across the room, speaking in low voices that no one else is able to hear.

Douglas starts to address the Colonel, to ask if she'd like him to bring her something from the buffet, and pauses. He's not actually sure what he's supposed to  _call_  her now. Is she still Colonel Mustang, or is she Mrs. Mustang, or Madam Fuhrer? 'First Lady Mustang' sounds well, but is she ready for that? Not wanting to upset her, he decides to stick with her military title until she tells them otherwise.

"Colonel Mustang, can I get you anything from the buffet? You should really eat something."

She blinks at him. "Thank you, Douglas. Just...a little of this or that, I suppose. I'll nibble."

He nods and crosses the room, collecting a plate and arranging it with olives and pickles and cubes of cheese and rolled slices of meat. As he does, he overhears the muttering.

"So he's still just Acting Fuhrer, right?"

"Right. I mean, we all know he's got the job, but he's delaying the inauguration in deference to his wife."

"Giving her time to grieve."

"Can't get her too upset in her condition."

"They're gonna live here? Sweet digs."

"Well, it was Grumman's own place - he let Madam Bradley stay in the old Fuhrer's mansion, the one owned by the state. Colonel Mustang was his only family, so now everything that was his is hers. Even if Mustang weren't the next Fuhrer, this house would belong to them by rights."

No one seems to be saying anything too damaging, so Douglas doesn't pay much attention. On his way back to the Colonel, however, he overhears something that almost makes him drop her plate.

"He  _is_  the Flame Alchemist. It wouldn't have been difficult for him at  _all_."

His blood runs cold. They can't seriously think...?

* * *

Apparently they can.

It is a week after the memorial. Mustang is still using the Crisis Room as a temporary office, and the group is convened there. Edward Elric is still among them; Winry is at the mansion with the Colonel, Catalina, and Havoc, but the Elrics have agreed that they want to remain with their friends for a few days longer, just to offer their support.

The door opens, and General Piper enters, followed by two MPs. He does not smile. He does not salute.

"Piper?"

"The investigation into the explosion has concluded," he says.

"What have you determined?" The presence of the MPs is not lost on Mustang, but he's remaining calm.

"There is no plausible reason for it to have happened. There are no evident explosives or any other equipment which could have triggered the blast. The conclusion of the investigative team is that the fire quite literally had no physical genesis and was therefore... alchemical in nature."

"I see." Mustang is still calm, but he's noticeably paler.

"Yes."

"Then I assume you're here for one reason."

"I'm afraid so. I am deeply sorry to have to say this," says Piper, and he actually does look regretful. "Acting Fuhrer and Major General Roy Mustang, you are under arrest for the murder of Fuhrer Grumman."


	10. Perpetual Check

**Perpetual Check**

_The act of repeatedly checking one's opponent. This is illegal in shogi._

* * *

Riza isn't sleeping much, which is perhaps to be expected under the circumstances.

Edward and Havoc and Becky all came to break the news to her. She and Winry were sitting in the garden, watching Black Hayate investigate the buds that will eventually turn into flowers, when they arrived. By their faces, Riza had known something was wrong, and she stood to face it. It was Havoc who put his arms around her, made sure he had a firm grip on her, before relating the terrible news.

Roy is in prison.

They believe he killed Fuhrer Grandfather.

"You don't believe it, do you?" Becky had asked her, once she'd recovered (as much as she  _could_  recover) from the blow.

"Of course not. Roy was with  _me_  when the explosion happened - I was sick. He wouldn't let me go to the restroom alone, and he was late to the meeting with Grandfather as a result."

"So that's it then!" said Havoc brightly. "You'll tell them that, and there's his alibi." But Riza shook her head.

"Remember when Maria Ross was arrested for Hughes' murder? Her alibi was that she was at her parents' house at the time he was shot. But they couldn't testify on her behalf. Family members aren't allowed. And since no one else can verify that Roy was with me when it happened..."

"...oh, damn."

"Don't they just have to prove that he's guilty, though?" asked Edward. "I mean, how can they prove he's guilty of a crime he didn't commit?"

"Let's hope they can't. It all depends on how far into Central Command the enemy has gotten his influence."

* * *

The day after Roy's arrest, Riza goes to the cemetery.

Breda accompanies her to Hughes' grave, where she puts down a bouquet of flowers and contemplates the stone. "I found Roy here, the night before the Promised Day," she remarks, apropos of nothing. "I'm not sure what he was doing exactly. Maybe warning Hughes that there was a chance they might be meeting soon."

"So that's where you two went. Fuery and I did wonder," Breda admits.

"I just had a feeling this was where he'd gone."

"Not surprised that you'd be able to figure it out."

"Heymans," she says, and she knows that this will tip him off that she's really hurting because she never uses their first names. "What if this isn't Acheron at all? What if it's something else entirely? How many enemies do we have?"

He looks at her hands, which have instinctively moved to cover the small swell of her abdomen, and then back at her face. "We'll find out as best we can, Ladyhawk," he replies. "And however many there are, we'll take them on. Take them on and take them down."

She looks at him, then, and smiles sadly. "I don't know what we'd do without all of you."

"We don't plan to let you find out, either."

* * *

Two days after Roy's arrest, the world is on fire.

At least, that's how it feels.

The newspaper cranks out extra editions to report on the carnage. The nearly-completed glass factory in Ishval - the one which was Roy's idea, the one he'd almost worn himself to exhaustion trying to bring into reality - has been firebombed in the night. No one knows who has done it (though at least  _this_  they can't reasonably blame on the Flame Alchemist, given his location) but the executive decision is made by the standing members of High Command to increase military presence in the area. Douglas is dispatched back to Ishval Command almost immediately, along with Armstrong, Brosh, and Ross.

Three days after Roy's arrest, news comes in that Drachma is assaulting Briggs.

This by itself isn't such a big deal. Drachma assaults Briggs approximately once every six weeks. It's become something of a recurring joke, really. The Drachman soldiers make a formation, throw snowballs at the Northern Wall, both sides make a few rude gestures, and they call it a day. It's practically a tradition at this point. But coming on the heels of the Ishvalan situation, it's treated more seriously than it otherwise would be.

"They're making  _us_  go to Briggs!" Becky shrieks when the orders are handed down.

"All of you?" Riza's stomach lurches in a way that, for once, she's pretty certain has nothing to do with the baby.

"All of us," Havoc confirms, looking mournful. "With Douglas in Ishval..."

"...my entire security detail is gone."

"Can't we get someone to countermand the order? Lieutenant General Armstrong, maybe?" asks Fuery.

"She can't override the entire High Command, even if she does technically outrank most of them," Breda replies gloomily. "The best we can do is go and hope it doesn't last long."

"We could try to appeal to her, I guess, depending on what we find when we get to Briggs," Havoc muses. "If it's not as serious as they're trying to make it sound, maybe she'll relent - for Ladyhawk's sake, at least."

"When do you leave?" Riza asks.

"This afternoon."

* * *

Edward and Winry accompany her to the station to see the others off. She thanks any higher power that happens to be listening that they, at least, can't be reassigned anywhere. Becky's embrace is tight and more than a little watery. "You take care of yourself," she admonishes.

"You too. And look after my men."

" _Somebody_  has to!"

Riza smiles, then turns to address the three grown men who are shuffling their feet and fidgeting like teenaged boys. "Men... you have your orders. I expect you to fulfill them with the same diligence and loyalty you have always shown to the General and me."

Their heels click, and their arms fly up in uniform salutes. "Ma'am! Yes, ma'am!"

"You are three of the finest soldiers ever to serve under the Amestrian banner," she all but barks with her old customary sharpness. "It has been a privilege to serve alongside each of you. Protect each other, as you've always done. And... and..."  _Damn hormones._  She struggles not to wilt.

"And come back as soon as you can," she just manages to say. The tears are threatening.

"Ah, geez, Lady..."

"Don't do that..."

"We'll be fine! We'll be back before you know it!"

"Blame the kid," she mutters. "You know I wouldn't be acting like this otherwise."

"Hey, now, that's our prince you're talking about."

"I kind of think it's a princess, myself."

"You care to make a little wager on that?"

"You know it."

"Fifty cenz says it's a boy."

"I'll take that bet."

"I'll wait and see how Falman bets, since he never loses."

Becky coughs, and when they look over, she jerks her head in Riza's direction. Riza's tears are still there, but they're prompted more by laughter than anything else.

"You three," she says, shaking her head. "Please promise me you won't ever change."

Their expressions melt from surprise and slight mischief into something softer. Finally, hearing the train whistle, it's Fuery who breaks the silence. "Permission to hug, ma'am?" he asks shyly.

"Granted."

She can't count how many arms are tangled in this embrace; it's distinctly possible that Winry and even Ed have joined in it. All she knows is that as it ends, as the queen's men board the train and it pulls out of Central Station, the queen herself feels a chill like nothing she has ever known.

* * *

Ed and Winry talk at great length. If they weren't parents themselves, there'd be no question about how they would handle matters. But they have a little boy, and they've spent a lot of time away from Lucas already on Roy and Riza's account, so it's a bit of a tricky decision. Neither of them wants to leave Riza in her present state, and although she feels guilty, she's also intensely grateful.

On the morning of the fourth day of Roy's incarceration, General Piper pays Riza a visit.

"I'm really sorry for everything that's happened, Colonel," he says. He has a nice, gentle voice, suitable for consoling a troubled woman.

"General, I can vouch for my husband's whereabouts at the moment of the blast. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"I wish it did. Can anyone  _else_  vouch for your whereabouts?"

"Not...not really. We passed a number of soldiers in the halls, but I don't know who any of them were. Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong found us maybe ten minutes after the explosion."

"That unfortunately creates a window, which creates a chance for doubt. I'll mention it to your husband's defense attorney, though."

"Can I see him?"

"He's not allowed visitors below the rank of General, I'm afraid. Meanwhile, I understand your security detail has been disbanded."

"Yes. But the Fullmetal Alchemist has very kindly agreed to assist in that capacity." Riza thinks she sees where this is going.

She doesn't. In fact, what he says takes her completely by surprise. "We have guards posted around the Fuhrer's mansion at all hours, of course, and we'll be stepping up that detail. But in light of your current situation, the High Command has decided that you should be placed in protective custody."

"Excuse me?"

"You're to be confined here to the house for the duration of the trial. It's for your own safety, ma'am, I'm sorry."

"Am I allowed to refuse?" she asks dryly.

He smiles apologetically. "I wish I could say yes. I know you value your independence."

"That's putting it mildly."

"You're still the First Lady, or First Lady presumptive if you prefer, and you're pregnant with the Acting Fuhrer's child. And with what's happened to your husband, and the subsequent shake-ups in national security, you could be a target for abduction or worse. For your sake - for the sake of your child - this is a regrettably necessary step."

The worst part is that Riza can fully appreciate the logic. He's right. She doesn't know if he's really to be trusted, but he's right. "I'll concede to this situation on one condition," she says.

"Ma'am?"

"The Elrics are my houseguests. I want it understood that they may come and go as they please, and are not to be hindered."

"Edward Elric is still technically considered a state alchemist, even though he's no longer able to perform alchemy. He is, therefore, a member of the military and no one would impede him. As for Mrs. Elric, I can't imagine anyone having any objection to her movements."

"Thank you for that."

"I will personally bring you news every day of what happens at the trial, if you like," he adds.

"The Fullmetal Alchemist is planning to attend the trial in my stead, so I'll already have a daily report." He flinches just slightly, and she relents. "But if you'd be so kind as to keep me informed about the situations in Ishval and Briggs, I'd certainly appreciate that."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm happy to do anything I can to help. I sincerely wish there were more I could do."

* * *

"Do you think we can trust him?" Riza asks Ed after the General takes his leave.

His golden eyes are dark. "Right now, Hawkeye, I don't trust anybody in this entire city whose name isn't Elric or Mustang."

"Good. We're in agreement."


	11. Battle of Titans

**Battle of Titans**

_A three-player game in which one player controls a standard set of chess pieces, one player controls a set of Shogi pieces, and one player controls a set of Xiang-qi (Chinese chess) pieces._

* * *

Edward is no fan of the judicial process, he has decided.

He was there for the arrest. Mustang went surprisingly quietly, evidently feeling that cooperating with this General Piper character was the wiser course of action. He merely issued a few last orders to his men - continue your efforts on the standing project (the search for Acheron, of course), don't do anything drastic, and above all else,  _take care of Riza._  Emphasis Mustang's. They were willing enough to obey, but circumstances that Ed finds entirely too coincidental for comfort have decreed otherwise. They are gone, against their wishes, and he alone is left to carry out that last instruction.

After a visit of several days, Winry is back in Resembool, rather against her own inclination but knowing that it's necessary for Lucas. She agrees with Ed, however, that he has to remain in Central City for as long as he's needed. He's managed to get a message to Al, who has not yet left Xing with his new bride, and his brother's reaction is naturally as horrified as everyone else's. They will make their way to Amestris as fast as they can, to offer whatever support they can, but the desert is vast and with such a contingent as could well be accompanying them, it could take upwards of a month.

Hawkeye wants desperately to go to the trial, when it begins. She wants to see more of her husband than his picture in the paper. She wants to tell him that she believes in him, that she trusts him just as much as she ever has. But she's not allowed. They're still keeping her under house arrest - they're  _calling_  it "protective custody" but Edward's not stupid - and she can't leave. Ed therefore has to go in her place, sit in the seats directly behind Mustang where his loyal supporters should be. He's the only one there. The rest have been scattered, sent to defend the eastern and northern regions from whatever the hell's shaking them.

Ed's not fooled by  _that_ , either. He can see what they're doing. They think the General will fall apart without his faithful subordinates to back him up. Probably the only reason no one's giving Ed himself any grief is because of the well-documented history he and Mustang have of snarking at each other at every opportunity.

No snarking now. In a very real sense, he's all the poor guy has. And Ed may gripe about Mustang, quite a bit in fact, but he knows what sort of things he will and won't do. He would never in a million years have done this. He's ambitious, but he's not murderous - he goes to extremes to avoid killing his enemies, so he's sure as hell not going to kill the closest thing to a father he's ever had.

* * *

Mustang's trial finally gets started a full two weeks after his arrest.

Every night of the travesty, Ed has to return to Hawkeye's home and find a way to tell her what he's seen without making her cry. It's not easy. Her hormones are fluctuating, her life is in disarray, and she's almost constantly either eating or lying down because she's nauseated. She's utterly frayed. He wouldn't blame her for crying, of course, but he has a hard time hearing it.

The first day is not too bad. Opening arguments by the prosecutor and the defense attorney. It's surprisingly painful to see Mustang in  _shackles_ , but they seem to believe it's the only way to keep him from using his alchemy to burn them all alive. Of course, as has already been established, they're idiots.

As the circus draws to its conclusion, and everyone stands so the judge can leave, Mustang turns around and gets to speak to Ed for a minute before he's taken away. "How is she?"

"About as well as can be expected."

"Just tell her...I'm sorry."

"She won't take that from you."

"What?" The guards are starting to shuffle the prisoner away, but his face makes it clear that he's uncertain of Ed's meaning. So he has to shout.

"She won't accept your apology because she believes you're innocent!"

Mustang is so immediately flooded with evident relief that his body goes almost limp in the guards' grip.

* * *

From the second day onward, however, it starts to get ugly, and Ed has to almost compose a mental script every night when he goes to have dinner with his pregnant friend. He hopes she doesn't read the newspapers. He's afraid, deathly afraid, that her anxiety will cause a miscarriage - and the loss of that child could be the end of one or both of them.

The official investigation report helps nothing. General Piper reports, in a pained voice that suggests he regrets his involvement, how the inspection uncovered no evidence of a normal explosion. No powder, no dynamite, no external stimulus of any kind. This led them to conclude that the carnage had alchemical origins, because no other explanation seemed plausible, and this naturally led them to the one and only Flame Alchemist.

The prosecution pulls no punches. They assault Mustang's character. His Ishvalan record comes up. The sheer number of people he killed with his alchemy. His drive to rise to the top, his continuous pursuit of promotions. His old reputation for womanizing (a reputation that once sickened Ed himself, before he understood the reality of it). His remarkably convenient marriage. Ed has to forcibly keep himself from shouting when that one comes up.

Character witnesses are called, none of them good and none of them fully appreciating the truth of the person they're tearing down. These range from jealous fellow officers who resent his career to jealous ex-girlfriends who resent his wife. The defense attorney isn't half bad at his job, and he tries to object to every misleading statement, every irrelevant fact. But Ed can't tell how much this is helping anything, or if it helps at all. He's not even sure that anything  _would_  help, because there's something about the judge that he really doesn't like very much.

"Tell your lawyer," he tells Mustang at the close of the day, "that he can call me as a character witness." He cracks a half-smile. "I guess it wouldn't kill me to tell them that you're a decent person."

* * *

After three days, the defense begins.

Mustang takes the witness stand to plead his own case. He patiently answers his lawyer's questions, detailing his activities on the terrible day. He and his wife arrived at Central Command and lunched with the Fuhrer, then took a walk. She was sick; she's expecting, it's been happening a lot. The Fuhrer's own orders were that she never be left alone, so he had to take her to the ladies' room himself. He was late for the meeting because of it.

"So you're asserting that you were never anywhere near the Fuhrer's office on the day of the explosion?"

"That's correct."

"Can anybody verify your whereabouts?"

"My wife, if she were permitted, could tell you. We did encounter a number of personnel while walking the grounds." He says a few names Ed doesn't recognize. "We were still in the restroom when the explosion occurred; Lieutenant Colonel Alex Louis Armstrong found us perhaps ten minutes afterward."

The prosecutor isn't convinced, obviously, but he strikes Ed as being so clearly biased that it's not even funny. "So the reality is, Major General, that no one can account for your location for at least twenty minutes except for your own wife."

"That is regrettably true." Mustang's expression is annoyed, but somewhat resigned; he's well aware that he's fighting a losing battle. He's determined to fight it nonetheless.

"Isn't it just a little strange that Fuhrer Grumman's unfortunate demise came only after he openly declared you as his chosen successor?"

"I really can't comment on that." Because, truthfully, what could he say?

"What about the nature of the explosion? You're the Flame Alchemist - are you suggesting that someone else in this country has access to the same abilities that you possess?"

"I am not."

"Is that possible?"

Mustang grits his teeth. "It's highly unlikely, but it's not impossible." Ed can tell this is somehow a sensitive point, although exactly why, he doesn't know.

"It's also well known that you're able to perform your alchemy at a considerable distance. So even if what you're telling us about being in the restroom with your ill wife is true, is it not possible that you could have done this from where you were?"

"Do you  _really_  think I would do that? He was my wife's  _grandfather_!"

"Let's be honest with ourselves, Major General. You had the means - your alchemy. You had the motive - he was the only person standing in your way of becoming Fuhrer. And you had opportunity. Those things frequently add up to guilt."

"Look," says Mustang, and Ed knows he's getting exasperated because he's on the verge of yelling, "I'm not saying I didn't have means. I'll even allow that I had opportunity. But I did not have motive! Fuhrer Grumman was family to me, literally and figuratively! He was my mentor. He was my friend. And he was, as I have already pointed out, my wife's grandfather - even if I did want to be Fuhrer so badly that I'd consider murder, which I  _don't_ , why in the world would I do that to her?"

"Well," says the prosecutor, "maybe you love your ambition more than you love your wife."

If Ed were blind, he would still be able to see that this is the Wrongest Thing anyone has ever said to Mustang. He fully expects him to light the prosecutor on fire, although this wouldn't exactly help his case. At the very least, he expects Mustang to explode.

He doesn't. His black eyes are burning a hole through the prosecutor's head, but he remains seated, clutching the arms of the chair in a furious grip. And when he speaks, his voice is dangerously low and hissing, and fully informing the prosecutor that he has crossed the uncrossable line.

" _I don't love_ _ **anything**_ _more than my wife._ "

* * *

Ed's halfway surprised when the defense attorney decides to put him on the stand. Either the guy thinks he's Mustang's last chance, or he figures it's worth trying to delay the inevitable. Either way, it's kind of brutal to be in that little box. The week is over; closing arguments won't take place until Monday, and he honestly pities Mustang, who spends his non-courtroom time in solitary confinement. Some stupid garbage about him possibly taking other prisoners hostage, or whatever - it's all obviously a lie.

If it were trial by jury, he thinks, maybe things would go better. Surely one person out of twelve would be either intelligent enough to see through all the smokescreen, or sympathetic enough not to go along with the railroading. But this is one of those rare cases where a judge alone will decide the verdict, using the excuse that the jury pool is completely contaminated because everyone in the country knows what happened and wants to see justice done, even if they don't realize what justice truly would be.

He does his best for Mustang, talking about his heroism on the Promised Day and, even before that, his devotion to Amestris. He explains the Maria Ross incident. He describes their joint efforts to defend Central City from the invading forces of Dong Bao, half-brother of their friend the Emperor. He bites his tongue so he won't take the prosecutor's bait when he's cross-examined, remaining firm in his recollection of details and refusing to acknowledge partiality.

"Look, I'm not the guy's biggest fan," he says finally, irritated. "But he's the closest thing I ever had to an older brother. I may not always agree with his methods, but I have never known him to do anything that wasn't for the good of this country. There's no way in hell he did what you're trying to pin on him."

He returns to the gallery, and Mustang turns to look at him over his shoulder.  _Thank you, Ed_ , he mouths.

Ed nods.  _You'd have done the same for me_.

* * *

He doesn't hold back the details at dinner that night. Hawkeye has the right to know. If nothing else, she has the right to know how vehemently Mustang defended his love of her.

She cries.


	12. The Silver General

**The Silver General**

_The General able to move diagonally or straight forward. In the Chess Motif set, it is represented by the alchemical symbol for silver._

* * *

Every few days, Andrew Piper pays a visit to Roy Mustang in prison.

The famous Flame Alchemist enters the visitation room looking wary, and exhausted. He sleeps badly in his solitary cell. (They don't dare release him into the general population, claiming it's for his own safety. The truth is that the charismatic Major General could very easily find allies among his fellow prisoners, and that could lead to some uncomfortable results.) He's also tired of having his hands shackled in such a way that they can't make contact with each other, to prevent him from using his alchemy to escape. It makes it impossible for him to read a book, or do much of anything else to distract himself during the hours he isn't in court.

The first time Piper visits him, he brings a small gift. He had been to the Fuhrer's mansion the previous evening to see the fair Colonel, to assure himself of her well-being (an assurance he's thus able to pass on to her concerned husband), and to bring her news of the situations in Ishval and Briggs.

"I told her I would be coming to see you today," he says. "She asked me to bring you something. I told her you're not allowed much, but I think you'd be allowed this at least." He slides the photograph across the table.

"Ah." Mustang doesn't allow his expression to change; he doesn't trust Piper enough for that. But there's a flicker of softness in the black eyes as he looks at the image of his wife and their dog. "Thank you."

"I do what I can to help. It's not much, but it's something."

* * *

He visits as often as he's able - her as well as him.

Piper is sorry for the Colonel, held hostage by her hormones as well as by the state. She tries so hard not to cry. He treats her gently, carefully, like a friend. He shares her concerns, expresses his hope that her scattered friends are safe, inquires after her health and professes a keen interest in the welfare of the growing child she carries. Most of all he tries valiantly to persuade her of his integrity.

How convinced she is, he can't quite tell. She's too practiced at hiding her emotions, to the extent that even in her fragile state she's still able to keep more under wraps than he'd like. But he knows that her friend the former alchemist does not trust him at all. Since Edward Elric is technically now a private citizen, and the mansion is private property, Piper doesn't really have the authority to order him to leave. On the other hand, there's not much he can do on his own, especially since he gave up his ability to perform alchemy. The worst damage he can inflict is to keep Colonel Mustang from believing in Piper's honesty, and in the long run, that will matter very little. Her cooperation is not really required.

He would  _like_  it, of course. It could make things easier if he can ultimately win her over. She has the respect of the Amestrian people; one of the heroes of the Promised Day, an upstanding and loyal soldier, courageous and kindly and decorated. She also has their sympathy - the only surviving family of the slaughtered Fuhrer, pregnant with the child of the man accused of the crime. Opinions are mixed as to the husband's guilt, but the wife has a nearly universal approval rating just at the moment. (Mustang's assertion of his love for her at the trial made its way into the papers, and the tragedy of their marriage has practically become the stuff of legend. It's kind of funny, in a way.) She will be a valuable ally if he can persuade her that he is trustworthy.

But ultimately, she is not needed. She's only a small cog in the works, and the plan can proceed just as well with or without her.

* * *

"Piper," says Mustang as he sits at the little table. "What brings you this time?"

"I came to see how you are." It's the same answer he gives every time. This time, however, he continues, "And I brought someone else who's come to visit you too."

"...Riza?" His voice is ragged with wary hope.

"I'm sorry, no. You know that no one with a rank below General can visit you," Piper reminds him in a kindly tone.

"Right. I didn't really think so. Well, who is it?"

"Wait here." As if he can do anything else. Piper gets up and opens the door. A white-haired man steps slowly into the room.

"We meet again, Roy Mustang," he says.

" _Acheron._ " Mustang pales slightly. "Piper! Arrest him!"

"On what charges, General?"

"This is the man who arranged the abduction of my wife earlier this year!"

"We already have Sergeant Sikorsky in custody for that crime, sir," Piper reminds him. "He confessed, remember?"

"But this is the man who was directing his movements!"

Acheron, meanwhile, takes the seat opposite Mustang. "You are so excitable, Roy Mustang," he says. "I thought you would be more worn down by your ordeal by now."

Mustang turns to glare at Piper, who holds his gaze without flinching. "How could you let this -" He breaks off suddenly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Oh, damn it all. You're working with him, aren't you?"

"Very astute, sir."

"And your testimony about the explosion?"

"Mostly true," he replies.

"Mostly?"

"I testified that the investigation team found no traces of external stimuli which could have caused the explosion, and that was true," Piper explains. "I also testified that this led them to the conclusion that the fire was alchemical in origin, which was also true. I merely left out the fact that the reason they found no external stimuli was because I removed all traces of it before they were permitted to examine the scene."

"You were the one who blew up the office.  _Can anybody hear me?_ " Mustang shouts. "Guard! Is there a guard?"

"Do not be ridiculous, Roy Mustang," says Acheron. "We are in a soundproof room where no one can hear anything that is being said. There are no guards outside the door. No one will ever believe you. It will be your word versus General Piper's. Who do you think is more trustworthy, in the eyes of the court?"

Mustang glowers, evidently lost for words.

"Imagine my astonishment when I discovered that both you and the valiant Lady Mustang survived the blast in the desert," Acheron continues. "A veritable pair of cockroaches, able to escape from most anything. I applaud your tenacity. This of course required me to mastermind a different plan. Fortunately, I long ago made the acquaintance of young Piper here, and knew that with his meteoric rise through the ranks, he would be a valuable asset to me."

"Go on. If you're so certain no one's going to believe me, you might as well tell me everything."

"It took a while to figure out the best way to proceed. Piper's endorsement by that Hakuro gentleman was a point in our favor; I knew he would recommend my young friend for any high position that came available."

"So Hakuro's in on this too?"

"Not at all. He and I have never met; he has no idea that I exist. I arranged the accident which killed the father of the Fuhrer's secretary, so that the man would be called away on an extensive leave, and it was easy enough for Piper to persuade Hakuro to suggest him to the Fuhrer for the post. Once he was serving the Fuhrer in this capacity, he had access to the old man's schedule and knew when you would next be in Central."

"Let me guess," says Mustang, dryly. "You're figuring that once I'm out of the way, Piper will be the next Fuhrer, and you can pull his strings. You do realize there are an awful lot of people ahead of him in line?"

"Of course. I am not stupid; perhaps you have noticed. We are fully expecting General Hakuro to be made Fuhrer. He has grown fond of Piper, almost like a father, and will doubtless name him his successor. We will take what steps we must to ensure that he does."

"And then what will you do? Run Amestris into the ground?"

"Actually, I owe a favor to a friend, which Amestris will help me to achieve." Acheron nods to Piper, who opens the door again. A thick-set Xingese man enters the room, his eyes glowing coldly. "I believe you once had occasion to make the acquaintance of His Imperial Highness, Dong Bao."

Mustang can only stare. "Are you kidding me?"

"Oh, you do remember me," says Bao. "You remember helping my brother the usurper defeat me, getting me banished from my homeland and erased from the royal family records."

"This isn't really happening, right?"

"Once I am in control of Amestris," Acheron continues, "I will be using the military to aid His Imperial Highness in an attack on Xing, and defeat the usurper's forces. Dong Bao will claim his rightful place as the Emperor."

"And until that happens," Bao interjects, "the members of my clan will support Acheron's efforts to take over this country."

"Let me guess," says Mustang, dryly. "The prosecutor is one of your allies too."

"Of course." Acheron looks at his watch. "We have kept Roy Mustang from his cell for too long, I think. He will want to be rested. His sentence is to be handed down tomorrow. His last days will already be unquiet as he thinks about all that we have said; we should allow him to rest while he can."

"The game isn't over," says Mustang. "I'm not in checkmate."

"Yet." Acheron smiles. "Do you really think I would take chances? The judge is one of mine as well."

Piper has watched the entire exchange in silence. When Acheron says this, he looks into Mustang's eyes, sees the light of horrible comprehension. He knows, now, that he will die, and Piper has to wonder how a man ever processes such a devastating truth. "For what it's worth, General Mustang, I  _am_  sorry it came to this," he says.

"Go to hell."

"Your wife is doing very well, all things considered; that should comfort you."

"Stay away from her," he says. He looks at Acheron. "In the desert, you called me a man of principle. Show me that you're the same. Give me that reassurance. Tell me that you'll leave my wife and child alone."

Acheron contemplates him, and nods slowly. "I will give you that, Roy Mustang. You have my word. Lady Mustang - and your little 'spark' - shall come to no harm by my orders."

"Thank you."

* * *

Once Acheron and Dong Bao have left the room, the two Generals look at each other.

"You may as well tell me the rest," says Mustang. "What's the going price for a soldier's loyalty these days? For what amount of money did you sell your soul to that fiend?"

"There wasn't money involved. It's about something much greater than that," Piper explains. "It's about justice."

" _Justice_?"

"Acheron is a Thesian."

"Thesian...wait, from Thesus? Near Milos?"

"Right. We assimilated the land more than forty years ago, when Acheron was just a child. His family was among those slaughtered when Thesus was destroyed and made part of Amestris."

"So it's about vengeance."

"You call it vengeance, he sees it as justice. I'm kind of on his side." Piper shrugs. "Then again, I'm of Thesian descent myself, so I'm probably biased."

"I see. How did he manage to hook up with the exiled prince?"

"I don't know the details about that," Piper admits. "I overheard something about Dong Bao having saved Acheron's life once, but I couldn't tell you any specifics. After he and his clan were exiled from Xing, Acheron got in touch with him and offered to help him reclaim the throne  _and_  be revenged on the Amestrian militants who thwarted his plans."

"Who blew up the glass factory in Ishval?"

"That would be members of Bao's clan, acting on Acheron's orders. The Briggs invasion wasn't actually our doing, though, if that was your next question. That was sheer dumb luck. The whole idea was to get your supporters out of Central and unable to help you, preferably in a situation that would get them killed too. But you're the one Bao really hates," Piper clarifies. "He sees you as the real reason his coup failed, because the Flame Alchemist was strong enough to scare his paid army into surrendering. So Acheron decided to use your flame alchemy against you."

"Is all this the real reason he had my wife kidnapped?" Mustang wants to know.

"No, not really. At that point, he was still negotiating the arrangement with Bao. He was trying to frame the Ishvalans so that you or her grandfather would restart the war of extermination, which would have created a nice diversion while he launched the next phase of operation. He needed to get Grumman out of power, of course."

He senses that Mustang wants to make some declaration of bravado. Phrases like  _You'll never get away with this_  or  _My men will stop you_  seem to hover in the air around them. But Mustang doesn't speak. He's very aware, Piper guesses, that he is at last checkmated, and nothing can save him now.

Piper stands. "I meant what I said," he tells the shackled man. "I really am sorry. You seem like someone I could honestly respect and maybe even like. I wish it could have been different."

He leaves the room, expecting no response from the defeated Mustang, and passes the guards who have been positioned out of earshot. "He's ready to go back to his cell," he says over his shoulder. "Judgment Day has arrived for the Flame Alchemist."


	13. Game Move

**Game Move**

_An interesting move in a disadvantageous position, on which one wagers the outcome of the game._

* * *

Havoc hates Briggs.

Okay, no. That's not entirely fair. Briggs is bitter and frigid and he definitely hates the weather; he'll admit that without reservation. But it's good to see Falman again, and the other "Briggs Bears" are friendly and welcoming, and even sympathetic about Mustang's plight. He and Fuery and Breda finally get to meet the mysterious Mrs. Falman - Alice is her name - and the two adorable munchkins that they've managed to produce together.

So he doesn't hate Briggs.

He just  _really_  wants to go home.

Every night, he, Breda, Fuery, Becky, and Falman cluster around a radio and listen to the broadcast of the day's news from Central. Highlights from the trial are presented. Sometimes they recognize the names of the witnesses that are called, and they enter a very spirited round of cursing them to the seventh level of hell. They don't curse Piper because, well, it sounds like the guy was just doing his job, but they know that some of the other prosecution witnesses are full of shit.

Occasionally there's a snatch of news about Ladyhawk. She's still in protective custody at the Fuhrer's mansion. Once in a very great while she gets to leave the house, usually to visit a doctor for a checkup, and the news correspondents make the most of any opportunity to see and question her. She brushes off most inquiries, politely but firmly, and they're left to amuse themselves with flowery description. "Beautifully sad." "Swollen and fragile." "The picture of dignified sorrow." Central Radio seems to regard her as a quasi-celebrity, which Havoc supposes she kind of is, but some of the things they say about her make her sound less like the pregnant wife of a wrongfully accused leader and more like a despondent film star.

On the plus side, she's alive and in apparent good health. They're united in relief about that much at least.

The day Ed Elric takes the stand to defend their commanding officer's integrity, they all cheer and drink a toast to the Fullmetal Alchemist.

The reporter sounds a bit self-satisfied the night he breaks the news about Mustang's own testimony. Havoc isn't sure why, unless it's because he gets to make this known before it hits the papers the following morning. Once he repeats the Chief's most poignant comment - "I don't love anything more than my wife" - it makes more sense. Becky gives a little hiccup of sob at that, and nobody is entirely looking at anybody else.

Damn them all. Damn every last one of the bastards who are responsible for what's happened to the Mustangs.

* * *

The worst part about the transfer to Briggs is that there's really not much to  _do_. The invasion was half over before they ever even arrived. So it makes it almost stupid that they're there and not in Central, because at least in Central they could theoretically be doing something to help. What that would be, no one is entirely sure, but _something_.

"They're keeping us away on purpose." That's Breda's theory, at least, and Breda's their strategist so Havoc has a tendency to believe him when he comes up with stuff like that. The two men are doing what Falman used to have to do, scraping icicles off of the overhead pipes.

"At this point, I wouldn't be surprised."

"We should be there, not here. They need us."

"I know." The weeks and the trial have been dragging on and on, and they're all getting testy.

Breda starts to say something else, but they're interrupted by one of the Briggs men. "Hey, Breda!"

"Yeah?"

"You've got a telegram!"

He and Havoc exchange puzzled looks. "I do?"

"Telegraph office is one flight up. Take the western stairs, turn left, second door on the right. Probably urgent - telegrams usually are."

"Okay, thanks."

"You think the trial's over?" Havoc wonders.

"Let's hope." The redhead ambles off in the direction of the western staircase, and Havoc resumes scraping.

 _Why doesn't Armstrong just send us back? She can't possibly be in on this, can she? Grumman trusted her. Hell, Mustang trusts her. And she likes Ladyhawk - likes me too, according to Falman. No, she can't be involved...but then why keep us here? Is she trying to protect us? That doesn't seem right. Not when we should be there protecting_ _ **them**_ _._ He whacks irritably at the icicles, shattering them and sending the shards spinning through the air. It makes him feel a little better.

He finishes the current set of icicles and wonders what's keeping Breda. Of course, the other Captain doesn't move too fast, so maybe it's nothing more than that. As he starts to head for the next pipeload of frozen death traps, however, he hears running feet.

" _Havoc_!"

"Since when-" Havoc starts to ask his buddy since when he  _runs_  anywhere, but as he turns, he stops mid-sentence. Breda is flushed from the exertion of swift movement, but underneath the flush, he has turned  _white_. He is shaking, and when he comes to a halt he doubles over, hands on his knees, panting.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"It's - Fullmetal."

"The telegram's from Fullmetal? What's it say?"

Breda shakes his head, and to Havoc's profound horror, there are what look suspiciously like tears in his eyes. He doesn't speak, just hands over the sheet of paper. Havoc grabs it, and feels the color draining out of his own face as he reads the single word it contains.

**CHECKMATE.**

* * *

It's quite a few minutes before either of them can speak.

"He's been found guilty?" Havoc can't process it. "Of a crime he didn't commit?"

"Something's dodgy." Breda mops his face with a handkerchief. "We've got to tell the others, fast."

"Becky's off-duty, should be in her bunk right now. Let's start there," Havoc says. Becky has the notable distinction of being the only female in Briggs besides Armstrong herself, a fact which makes him very relieved that she wears her engagement ring prominently.

They're halfway to Becky's bunk when they hear their names. They turn to see an agitated Fuery come rushing toward them, not bothering to try and hide the wetness on his cheeks.

"How did you find out so fast?" Havoc asks, his voice a bit dulled with pain.

"On the radio. Special news broadcast." Fuery wipes at his face. "How did you find out?"

"Telegram from Ed Elric." Breda shows him.

"Then you don't know!"

"What?" And suddenly, Havoc is so damned terrified that he can't even breathe.

Fuery's expression can only be described as devastated. "The sentence..."

" _What_  sentence, Kain?"

"He's - he's -" The young officer gulps. "It's - death...by firing squad!"

Breda actually grabs the wall in order to stay upright, staring at Fuery. "Tell me you're lying."

"I wish I were. Guys, what are we gonna  _do_?"

Havoc thinks, as quickly as he's able. "Go grab Falman," he says, "and meet us at Becky's bunk. We've got to form a plan of action. Fast."

Becky, like Fuery, weeps openly when they tell her. Falman is grave, and silent.

"Is there anything we can do?" Fuery wants to know.

"We've got two options at this point," says Breda. "Either we go to General Armstrong, and tell her what's happened, and ask her to let us go...or we desert like we did for the Promised Day." He gestures to himself and Fuery. "Falman? What are the odds of the General allowing us to go?"

Falman does some mental calculations. "I would say approximately 60% in our favor."

"I wasn't asking for an actual figure. Should we try it, do you think?"

"I find that notion preferable to desertion. She's an honorable woman."

"All right. Let's go."

* * *

"No," she says.

They stare at her. "What?"

"Are you deaf, Captain Catalina? I said no." The queen of Briggs has one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, arms folded, barely looking at them.

"May one ask why, General?" ventures Falman.

"Because, Major Falman, I don't have the authority to countermand directives from High Command. Your friends were transferred here by circumstances beyond my control."

"With all due respect, General, we  _need_  to be in Central!" Havoc is having trouble controlling his volume. "General Mustang's going to be killed - who knows what that's going to do to the Colonel - the least we can do is  _be_  there!"

"And I've told you, I can't give you permission to go!" Her words are steely...and heavy. There's a meaning there that he's not catching.

Breda, however, seems to be getting an idea. "Then I'm afraid, ma'am, you've left us no choice but to desert our posts."

"Desert your posts?" she repeated, lip curling with disdain. "Tch. You actually admit that to me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Placing your friends above your duty to this country? Who the hell do you think you are?"

And now Havoc understands, and it seems that the others do as well. They click their heels together, standing ramrod straight, and together they - he, Breda, Fuery, and Becky - speak as if with one voice. " _We are the queen's men!"_

"Tch," she says again, but this time Havoc catches the sparkle in her bright blue eye. "Get out of my sight. In fact, get out of my fortress."

They salute her and turn to go. "Falman? You coming?" Fuery asks.

The older soldier hesitates, and glances at his commanding officer. " _You_  I have the authority to dismiss," she snaps. "Go on, throw your lot in with them. Permission to go to Central granted."

"Thank you, General."

"Just go." She smirks. "You have a train to catch."

* * *

"We need to let Fullmetal know we're on our way," says Havoc, "so we can arrange to meet him. Do you think we can risk calling the Fuhrer's mansion?"

"If they've got a halfway decent communications tech working for them, they're almost certainly tapping Ladyhawk's phones," Fuery replies. "Telegram's probably our best bet, but it has to be coded."

"I've got it," says Breda. He leads the way back to the telegraph office, arranging for the message to be transmitted to Central and delivered to Colonel Mustang's private residence.

"What should it say?" asks the operator.

"Two words will suffice:  _advancing pawns_."

"Right, that's settled," says Havoc. "Let's go pack - fast. Falman, you should go let your wife know what's going on. She doesn't need all the details, just enough that she doesn't worry too much. We'll meet you at your place as soon as we're ready to go."

"Very good. I'll see you all soon, then."

"Are we rushing this?" Becky wants to know. "I mean...sometimes people get sentenced to death and they just sit around for a long time waiting, don't they?"

"Sometimes," says Breda quietly. "But this is a capital crime - and a crime against the state. I have a very bad feeling that they're going to expedite the proceedings as much as they possibly can. Time is definitely not on our side."

"Storming Central is going to look like a picnic next to this, isn't it?" she asks.

"Probably."


	14. The Gold General

**The Gold General**

_The General able to move vertically, horizontally, or diagonally forward. In the Chess Motif set, it is represented by the alchemical symbol for gold._

* * *

Lieutenant General Olivier Mira Armstrong is, as a general rule, regarded as the most powerful woman in the Amestrian military, and could give a large majority of the men a run for their money too. A noblewoman with a prestigious lineage dating back centuries, she inspires nothing less than awe and fear in most people. Those who serve underneath her love her with an almost slavish devotion. Those who do not have better sense than to even consider challenging her authority.

Even Fuhrer Grumman had considered making her his successor instead of his grandson-in-law, a contemplation in which she had felt the full force of the compliment. But she had been genuine in her rejection. To be the first Lady Fuhrer of Amestris would, indeed, have been a great thing; but why deal with all that nonsense when she already rules uncontested over the north country? Let the arrogant flamethrowing bastard have the big chair, and all of its attendant headaches.

Of course, now that he's been sentenced to die for a crime that Olivier is fairly certain he didn't actually commit, she wonders if she did the right thing after all.

She's been following the coverage of his trial, of course. Oh, she will tell anyone who will listen that she detests Mustang and doesn't care if he lives or dies. There's a certain amount of truth in those remarks, too. But she doesn't really want him to be killed off, especially since the news bulletins have made much about the former Riza Hawkeye's "delicate condition." (If Riza Hawkeye has ever been in a delicate condition in her life, it must be now.) Olivier may not particularly like Mustang but he at least has good taste; Olivier has a lot of respect for the Lady of the Hawk's Eye, and likes to amuse herself by thinking that the other blonde generally just humors her upstart husband in his whims.

No, she doesn't want him killed off in this situation. Especially because she can smell the railroading all the way from Briggs. She first has her suspicions when his most loyal followers stumble off of the train and up to the fortress, reassigned to her in order to help keep Drachma at bay. "As if I need  _your_  help," she snaps, and sets them on icicle-scraping duty. As the trial progresses, it becomes unflinchingly obvious that Mustang is being framed. The aggressive prosecution, the unconcerned judge, the parade of witnesses all centered on character defamation - it's very, very evident to a neutral party. In fact, she finds it almost ridiculous enough to make her want to smash her radio.

When Mustang takes the stand in his own defense, she almost pities him.

When she hears the impassioned stance he offers that he would never have done this to his wife - that "I don't love anything more than my wife" - she relents, and actually  _does_  pity him. For once, he is being completely honest with the world, and for once, she respects him.

* * *

So now Mustang's little circus of trained monkeys want to rush down to Central and try to save him from the firing squad.

Olivier doesn't care. Let them go. Of course, she can't make it that easy, but she has a feeling that they don't need her to make it easy either. She gives them the little push they need, and they're off and running. By now they've probably reached the train station.

The question remains, then, what is  _she_  going to do?

Truthfully, she doesn't have to do anything, not really. She doesn't owe Mustang anything. On the other hand, she did once promise (however grudgingly that) that, if the need arose, "the shield of Briggs will come to the aid of the sword of Ishval." And keeping promises as significant as that one is a tradition which has been handed down through the Armstrong line for generations.

She therefore picks up the phone and demands a direct line to Ishval Command.

After a few minutes, the familiar voice is on the line, and she involuntarily smiles. "Lieutenant Colonel Miles."

"Keeping busy in the desert, Miles?" she drawls.

His voice alters as he identifies the caller. "To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure, Ladyship?" She's amused; he hasn't called her that in a long time.

"I'm guessing you heard the news about Mustang."

"Ah. Yes, I did... everyone here at Ishval Command is taking it hard. He's well liked here."

"Tch. Well, I wanted to make sure you followed procedure."

"...ma'am?"

"Have his personal effects sent to Central. I'm sure they'll be a great consolation to his wife."

"Oh. Yes, of course, I should have thought of that."

"Yes, you should. He left you in charge for a reason."

"I will of course have them packed and sent on the next available train. In fact, I think I should bring them personally."

"I think that would be wise. You wouldn't want them to fall into the wrong hands. I should warn you, though, that from what I've been told, nobody ranked lower than a General is able to get near either of the Mustangs."

"That does create some difficulties for the delivery. I'll see what I can do."

"Good. Meanwhile, how goes the cleanup following that glass factory explosion? That must have really scarred the landscape."

"You could say that. We were lucky - no fatalities, and only a very few serious injuries."

"Will taking this trip to Central at such a time put a mark on your service record, do you think?"

"It's a risk I'm willing to take. By the way, Ladyship, the next time we meet, can I interest you in a game of chess? I got into the habit of playing with General Mustang and I'm somewhat lacking for an opponent now."

"Tch, that man's obsession. You know, he left a set with me the last time he was at my family's mansion. The pieces are still all lined up in position."

"Pity. Well, General, much as I enjoy speaking with you, I'd better get a move on if I'm to deliver Mustang's belongings to Central as soon as I can."

"Of course. Travel safely, Miles."

"Thank you, Ladyship."

* * *

Olivier exits the train in Central City and looks around with an air of disinterest. She stalks through the streets to the command center, ignoring anyone who dodges out of her way, and slams her hands down on the desk of the admitting attendant on the prison level. "I'm here to see Mustang."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but he can only have visitors of a certain clearance-"

"You see these stars, Sergeant? You see this sword? I have all the clearance I need."

"...yes ma'am," he squeaks. "I'll get the interview room ready."

She's sitting at the table and waiting when the prisoner shuffles into the room; it shocks her to see how defeated he looks. His countenance brightens slightly when he sees her. "Armstrong?"

"You look like hell."

"Yeah, this place'll do that to you. Pardon me for staring - you're the first person who's come to visit me that I don't think was involved in putting me here in the first place."

"Please. I don't care for convaluted schemes; I would have just killed you and been done with it. Firing squad, huh?"

"Yeah. Kind of ironic, considering my wife's occupation."

She levels a glare at him. "Tell me exactly what's happened. I have the guards out there terrified, they're halfway down the hall."

Talk he does. He explains Acheron, what he had done to Riza in the desert, what he's doing now. He explains Dong Bao and their allegiance. He explains Piper's role, Hakuro's ignorance of the truth. She listens without comment.

"When is the execution?" she asks finally.

He shakes slightly as he answers. "Friday."

"Three days? That soon?"

"High crimes and misdemeanors, my dear General. I'm convicted of having committed a bunch of sins in one fell swoop - murder, arson, treason, and familicide all in one explosion. Under the circumstances, they thought it best to off me as quickly as possible." He grimaces. "That, of course, is the official explanation."

"Does Hawkeye know?" She still thinks of her as Hawkeye.

"Yes. They're giving us a few hours before... before it happens. So I can say goodbye."

"You're giving up," she accuses him.

"I'm out of options, princess. They took my men, they've essentially taken my wife, every ally I've got is who knows where at this point. You're the only friendly face I've seen since I was arrested, other than Fullmetal during the trial, because you're the only ally I've got who's got a high enough security clearance to see me."

She starts to tell him the truth - that his men are here in Central, and they're working to get him out of this mess alive - but something stops her. Partly she's afraid to get his hopes up, in case they don't pull it off. Partly she doesn't like admitting she has no idea what's going on.

"I'll see what I can do for Hawkeye," she says instead.

"I appreciate that. She's going to need friends around her and the baby." He looks at her with sincere concern. "But watch your own step, lady. They know that Grumman offered you the post. If they think you're a threat, they'll take you down too."

"Please. I've killed better men than this Piper character in my sleep."

"I have no doubt of that. But he answers to Acheron, and Acheron managed to outwit Grumman. I just don't want you to get hurt."

"Tch." She appreciates the concern, but tries not to show it. There's a warmth there, however, that he unfortunately can probably detect.


	15. Crossroads

**Crossroads**

_Turning points where the path, direction and ultimately fate of the game are decided._

* * *

"I never thought I could miss Central  _that_  badly," Rebecca comments, clearly trying to keep the mood light. "I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever be warm again!"

The train is pulling into Central Station, and her quip is met with thin smiles of varying warmth from her male companions. Fuery appreciates what she's feeling and what she's trying to do, but they're all so depressed that it's hard to know how to respond to anything right now. The queen is in captivity and the king is facing death, and it's all up to the loyal pieces to reverse this terrible checkmate and win the game. And they've only got three days.

Actually, given how long it's taken them to get to Central from Briggs, it's more like two.

Actually, given that they don't even know what time the execution is scheduled to happen on Friday (don't they do these things at dawn, sometimes?), it might really only be one.

Great, he's just managed to depress himself even farther.

* * *

Fullmetal meets them at the station.

"I was never so glad to get a telegram in my life," he says.

"How's Riza?" asks Rebecca, voicing their first concern.

"Devastated. Trying to be tough, for the baby's sake, but the light's gone out of her eyes." Ed looks haunted. "I want to take her to Resembool to stay with us, so she doesn't have to be here when it happens, but she won't hear of it and I'm not sure I can get her out of the house anyway, with all the damn guards."

"We can't get in to see her either, can we?" asks Breda, grimly.

"No. Nobody below the rank of General is allowed to visit either of them. I'm only able to get in the mansion because I'm staying there and she pitched a fit at the idea of my being thrown out."

"Did you tell her we were coming?" asks Havoc.

"I thought about it, but... honestly? I was afraid to get her hopes up." He folds his arms. "We don't even know what the hell we're gonna do."

"We can't talk about it here," Breda mutters. "We don't know who's listening. We need to find someplace a lot more private."

"Like where?"

"I'm still working on that part."

"Well, we can't stay here," Fuery points out. "We all just deserted our posts. I don't think General Armstrong would report us, but that doesn't change the fact that the higher-ups at Central know we were transferred. If we're seen, they'll arrest us."

"The mansion's out, and so is pretty nearly every public place. Do any of you still have lodgings here in Central City?" Ed asks dubiously. They all shake their heads.

"Madame," Breda says suddenly.

"What?"

"Madame Christmas - we could go to her bar."

"That's another funny thing," says Ed, although they start walking out of the station regardless. "Ever since Mustang was arrested, her bar's been shut up tight. It's believed she fled town."

"Why would she do that? He's her  _son_."

"Nephew, technically," Falman corrects, "but let's not split hairs. She raised him."

"Maybe she was afraid of reprisals?" Fuery suggests. "You know, if people believed he was guilty and somehow found out they were related, they might have done something stupid."

"Maybe. Point is, the bar's been closed for weeks."

* * *

They convene instead in a bar in a seedy part of town, where for enough money the bartender will gladly forget your name and anything else you want him not to know. Huddled around a corner table, they speak in hushed voices, with Ed giving them what specifics he's been able to learn. The execution is set for three in the afternoon on Friday, so at least they have a little more time than they originally thought. The Mustangs will be allowed to spend the earlier part of the day together, a fact which makes them all look pained.

"I can't imagine being in that position," Rebecca murmurs. "Knowing...knowing what will happen..."

"Let's not think about it too much," says Havoc shortly, though he puts his arm around her. "We're all tired and depressed. We need to keep our resolve strong."

"Don't drink too much either," Breda warns. "We can get drunk after this is all over. We might  _need_  to."

It's only after dark that they leave the bar, using nightfall to help conceal their identities somewhat. Ed doesn't bother to hide his golden hair, as he's free to move about the city, and when someone spots them Fuery thinks that this was a mistake on his part. But it's only an older woman selling flowers.

"Is that the young Master Elric?" she asks. There's something funny about her hairstyle. It reminds him... of Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong, actually.

"Who wants to know?" he asks, not impolite but clearly wary.

"I have some beautiful flowers here that might be of interest to you."

"I don't think-" he begins, but Havoc cuts him off, a gleam in his eye.

"We'll take them," he says.

"What are you  _doing_?" asks Rebecca.

He pulls them aside slightly. "The Chief told me that one night, a flower seller who worked for the Armstrong family sold him a bunch of flowers while giving him information. I think this is the same woman." He turns back to her. "What have you got?"

"I have this stunning bouquet of white roses that would be perfect for your lady friend there, and these bright yellow daffodils remind me of this young man's hair."

"Sold."

Fuery is impatient to know what on earth they could learn from the flowers, but Havoc waits until they've put some distance between themselves and the flower seller before he starts pulling the bouquets apart. "It's a message," he says, uncovering a piece of paper folded up so small it could almost be overlooked entirely.

"From who?"

Breda takes it and works the little square open, eyes going wide as he does. "Lieutenant General Armstrong," he says in a hushed voice. "You were right, Havoc."

"What does she say?" asks Rebecca.

"That we..." He looks around quickly, but they're still alone. "We're to make our way to the Armstrong estate."

"It's on the far side of town from here, it's going to take a while. Think we dare to hail a cab?"

"Think we can  _find_  a cab at this hour?"

"That's probably a better question."

* * *

"People actually  _live_  here?" Rebecca squeaks. "And I thought Riza's grandfather's place was impressive!"

"They say the Armstrongs used to be members of the nobility, before Amestris became a military state," Falman muses. "This is the ancestral estate."

"That probably explains a few things."

Feeling uneasy, and wondering if they're all just walking into an elaborate trap, Fuery summons his courage and rings the bell. A moment later, the door is flung open.

"What the - Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong?"

"Oh, my dear,  _dear_  friends! It is  _so good to see you all_!" He's almost weeping with joy at the sight of them, and they all brace themselves in case he starts ripping off his shirt. Fortunately, he refrains. "Come inside, quickly, before anyone sees you."

"What are you doing here, sir?" asks Falman. "I thought you and your men were sent to Ishval Command!"

"And so we were! We only returned to Central a few hours ago." He leads them to the dining room, where his sister is sitting at the long table with Ross, Brosh, Miles, Douglas, Dorset, Mason, and Webber.

"Holy... hail, hail, the gang's all here?" asks a bewildered Havoc.

"Get rid of that filthy cigarette while you're in my house," snaps the General.

"Yes ma'am."

"What's going on?"

"Sit down and quit staring. You want to save the bastard, don't you? Let's figure out what to do."

Numbly, stunned, they take seats at the table. It's impossibly good to see them all, and yet - do they dare to hope that it'll work?

"Right," says the General, briskly. "I called you all here because we've got to stop this execution. Mustang isn't my favorite person - he doesn't even rate in my top fifty - but he's been framed and I can't stand a miscarriage of justice. Besides, his child needs a father, even if I don't think he'd be a competent one. So we have to stop it."

"It's at three o'clock on Friday afternoon," Ed begins.

"I know that. I went to see him myself this afternoon."

"You saw the Chief?" Fuery exclaims. "How is he?"

"He's been wrongly condemned to death for murdering his wife's grandfather. How do you think he is? Don't ask stupid questions."

"All right," says Breda, shifting into strategist mode, "maybe we should lay out everything we do know. That way we can figure out a game plan."

Armstrong nods, as though pleased that someone is speaking sense. "Fine. Here's what we know. Three o'clock on Friday, as Fullmetal says. Before that, he's being given three hours under heavy guard at the executive mansion, so he and the Colonel can say their goodbyes. From there he'll be taken directly to the old parade grounds, which are being used for the purpose, where he'll be executed by firing squad. Do we know anything else that has relevance?"

"We know that his mother is missing. We were just talking about it a little while ago, because we were going to go and hide out at her bar," Falman interjects.

"Christmas, huh? Hmm." Armstrong looks thoughtful. "We should look into that. Miles - you came back to Central on my orders, you can move around unimpeded. Go to the bar - get the address from one of these men - and see if there are any signs of life. Mustang's mother may need protection." She blows a lock of hair out of her face. "He's going to owe me big time when this is all over."

As Miles gets the bar's address from Havoc and heads out to find out what's become of Madame, they start discussing possible strategies. "The thing is," says Breda, "we can't move too overtly because they've still got Ladyhawk - sorry, Colonel Mustang - under their 'protective custody.' If we do something like intercept the Chief en route to the execution site, they could do something to her."

"Yeah, and if she dies, there's absolutely no point in saving him," Havoc adds darkly. "Trust us on that one."

"I'm the only one who has clearance enough to get into the mansion, is that correct?" asks the General.

"Nearly. I'm staying there," Ed says, "so I'm allowed to come and go as I please. They watch me pretty closely, though, I can't do anything too crazy, and I've been hesitant to tell her anything in case the house is bugged or something."

"Fine. You and I will worry about getting her out of the house. The rest of you will need to focus your energies on saving him."

Alex Armstrong, meanwhile, is directing a handful of servants to bring refreshments for everyone. "Of course, the other problem," he says, contemplative, "is that even if we save him from being executed now, he's still a convicted criminal. Unless we find a way to smuggle them out of the country or something equally drastic, he'll be taken prisoner again as soon as he's caught - and that's if they don't kill on sight."

"You're right," says his sister. "We need to prove his innocence if he's ever going to be able to live in this country again. Not that I object to shipping him off to Xing or wherever."

"How can we prove his innocence, though?" asks Fuery. "They should have been the ones to prove his guilt - what happened to innocent until proven guilty?"

"Innocent until proven guilty only works when the judge is truly neutral. From what Mustang told me, the judge was in that Acheron's pocket. So was the prosecutor," Armstrong replies. "They didn't have to prove him guilty, they just needed to make it look convincing to the public."

"What's their plan now?"

"Apparently they figure that since I already turned down the Fuhrer's seat, it will go to Hakuro, who will almost certainly appoint Piper his successor when he steps down. When that happens, Acheron will control the country from behind the scenes. What he plans to do then, he didn't explain to Mustang."

"His only chance is if we can find some way to prove he didn't kill Grumman," says Ed with a sigh. "This isn't looking good."

"Without a body for autopsy, I guess that's a little hard to prove," says Maria Ross, and Breda - who had a hand in "her" autopsy - gives her a grim smile. They fall silent for a time, as the servants bring in beverages and small pastries, although few among them have any sort of appetite.

A distant bell jangles, and Armstrong looks up from her tea. "That must be Miles...he certainly made good time."

"General!" the familiar voice calls. They all exchange looks, because Miles is hardly the most exciteable individual in Amestris, but he sounds a bit worked up just now.

"Miles, report!"

He stands in the doorway; his dark glasses are off and his red eyes are perplexed. "General..." He seems to be at a loss for words.

"Did you find the place?" she prompts him.

"Oh, I found it all right."

"What about Madame Christmas?" asks Havoc. "Did you find her, is she okay?"

"I'm fine," grumbles a smoky voice, and the portly figure of General Mustang's foster mother moves past Miles to enter the room. "So you lot are finally going to do something about all this, huh?"

"We would have been here sooner if they hadn't deliberately split us up," Douglas protests, speaking for the first time. He seems slightly awed by her, like he hasn't been sure what to expect.

"Yeah, well, they're wily like that. Just ask these four." She jerks a thumb at Fuery, Falman, Havoc and Breda. "Do you have a plan?"

"We're working on that," says General Armstrong. Fuery is a little surprised, because that's the closest he's ever heard her come to being deferential toward anyone other than Fuhrer Grumman. It's not exactly a friendly tone, but there's a sort of neutral pleasantness to her voice that she doesn't normally present. Maybe she just feels sorry for Madame; after all, that  _is_  her son - or the closest thing she has to one - who's about to be executed.

"Well," says Madame, "I brought something that might help."


	16. Sitting King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't mince words. I cried the whole way through writing this.

**Sitting King**

_A King that remains on its initial square. Shogi tradition teaches that this is generally a bad idea, since it leaves the King vulnerable to attack._

* * *

On the last day of his life, Roy Mustang opens his eyes and spends a few minutes contemplating the simple act of breathing.

Much like seeing, it's something that people take for granted. He realized that when he was blinded, and ever since then, he's rejoiced in his ability to see the world around him. Now he's fascinated by the simple reality of air moving in and out of his lungs. A miracle, in its way.

He's given breakfast. He eats slowly, taking his time, experiencing the taste and the smell of the food. Not that it's particularly good, mind; it's prison fare. Still, it's food. He wonders how many meals he's simply eaten without even enjoying them. He tries to remember the last time he ate something that he particularly relished, and to his slight amusement, the only thing that comes to mind is the soup Riza sometimes made with the winter potatoes in Ishval. He was so sick of those potatoes, but she did the best she could.

He had actually grown somewhat fond of the desert, during their time there. The Ishvalan people weren't wholly welcoming at first - for which he could never, ever blame them, all things considered - but in time they had warmed to them both. He thinks of the little house they shared with Hayate, with the vegetable garden where he raised so many of the starchy little tubers. It wasn't the home he'd  _wanted_  to give her, but it was home regardless, and they'd been happy. Completely happy.

It's not enough, it could never be enough, but at least they had that before it all fell apart.

* * *

They're going to take him to see her.

He will have three hours. The only three hours of genuine life he will have experienced in six weeks.

He's still a prisoner, still a condemned man, but he figures the least he can do is try to be presentable for his wife. He's escorted to the shower, the only place where he's ever unshackled, because they reason that the Flame Alchemist can't do much damage while he's soaking wet. (He could. Oh, he could. But he doesn't want to hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it, and when it comes to the lower-level soldiers, it's very difficult to know who's innocent and who isn't.) He scrubs his hair and his every inch of pale skin, hoping that he doesn't look too awful. He doesn't want to upset her any more than she's doubtless already upset.

How she's going to get through this, he can't begin to know. Not a single friendly face in the whole city but Ed, and he has a wife and child of his own who need him to come home. He wishes Riza would leave with him, or more accurately, wishes that they would  _let_  her leave. Maybe in the country - away from the military and all the reminders - she can find some kind of peace. As it is, with their other friends taken away and almost no family left on either side, she's not going to fare well in Central.

He combs his dripping hair, watching in vague curiosity as drops of water fall to the floor. They scatter over the hard tiles, and his mind tries to create patterns out of the random distribution. Tries to make sense out of something because right now, he can't make sense out of anything.

* * *

He finds her in the garden, alone with Black Hayate. Her belly is fuller than he remembers; then he remembers that he hasn't seen her in more than a month. "Riza..."

"Roy." He wonders who broke it to her - Ed, he hopes, who would at least have been as gentle as possible. She's not crying, at least not now, but her eyes are hollow and sad. He remembers that sadness from when they'd first met; she was such a lonely little creature, and even though it took two years before he realized she was everything he wanted, he'd been intrigued by those sad eyes from the first day. He wants now what he wanted then, to drive the sadness out of their expression. For a while, he had actually managed to do it.

He sits down beside her, and she curls herself into his arms. Three hours. They have three hours in which to say all that needs to be said, and they can't even be completely alone; the guards are too far away to listen, they give them that much, but they're still present. Not that their current situation lends itself very well to intimacy.

"I don't...don't have long," he says. Not long enough. A thousand years would not be long enough to be with her. "There's so much I never said...I always thought there'd be more time. I promised you my whole life and I didn't even give you two years."

"I would have taken two  _hours_ , if it was all you had to give me, sir." He smiles, briefly; she clings to that habit of calling him  _sir_ , an affectionate reminder of where they've been.

"You saved me so many times. Did I ever say thank you?"

"Often, although not usually with words. I never felt unappreciated, if that's what you're asking." She always knows what he isn't saying, and it's as much a comfort now as it ever has been.

For a time, they ignore the reality of what's happening and talk of other things. She promises to visit his mother frequently. They choose baby names and she tells him what the doctor said on her last visit. She takes his hand and places it on her stomach, and he feels his offspring moving; it's not big enough to kick, but there is definitely activity in there. It flutters and pulses and he's awestruck, completely spellbound. It's terrifying and heartbreaking and consoling all at once, to know that something of himself is going to live beyond this day.

"Promise me," he says finally, "that you won't do what you did when Lust told you... you know. Promise me you won't give in to despair. Our baby will need you to be strong."

"I know...I promise."

He slides down to his knees and addresses the child directly. "Hey there, little soldier," he says softly. "I'm... I'm so sorry we never got to meet. But I know you're going to be somebody amazing, like your mother. Take care of her for me, okay?"

Hayate ambles over and thrusts his nose into Roy's hand. "You too," he says, rubbing the little black ears. "Take care of your mistress. My last order, Second Lieutenant."

"Fifteen minutes, General Mustang," says the guard abruptly. Roy looks up. He's a young soldier, and looks a bit heartsick to be giving him the warning.

"Thank you."

He stands, Riza doing likewise, and he wraps his arms around her. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm so sorry. For everything."

"Don't be sorry. It's not your fault."

"You still believe in me?"

"Always."

He kisses her, and then again. "No matter what happens," he says, "I've always loved you, and I will love you until my last breath." This would sound grander, he thinks, if that last breath weren't less than an hour away from being drawn.

"I love you too." She presses her face into his shirtfront, and he can feel a bit of moisture soaking through the fabric, but when she pulls back her eyes are dry.

"Don't follow me," he says sternly. "You're still under orders not to die, you know."

"I know."

He kisses her, one more time. It's the last one ever, so he tries to make it as pure and as intense as everything he feels for her. He knows it doesn't begin to come close.

"It's time, General."

His last view of Riza is of her standing in the sunshine in a garden, with a dog in her arms. As final images go, it's pretty good.

* * *

The staccato beat of the drum is slow and measured, an audible countdown of the last minutes of his life. He's marched onto the parade grounds, his shackles removed. A pair of posts await him there; he is positioned between them, arms out at his sides and tied to the posts. Of course. They're taking no chances.

The firing squad lines up silently, watching him through the gaps in their black masks; there are seven, which seems a bit like overkill (no pun intended). He wonders if they care whether he forgives them or not. He does, all the same.

Piper - that bastard Piper - and a small crowd of MPs arrange themselves in the parade ground stands. "Major General Roy Mustang," he calls out, reading from a document, "you have been tried and convicted of high crimes and misdemeanors against Amestris, and have been sentenced to death by firing squad. Do you have any last words?"

Roy takes a breath, counts to three. "Not for you," he replies coldly. He knows what he wants his last words - rather, his last word - to be, but he's not sharing it with that traitor scum.

Piper shrugs, and nods to the firing squad. "Take your positions."

Roy feels the moisture on his face and wonders if it's raining or if he's just weeping. A distant rumble of thunder does nothing to clarify the issue. He tilts his head back to look at the sky, the clouds rolling in, his cheeks damp.

" _Riza_ ," he says, quietly. Let that be the last thing to ever cross his lips.

"Ready," calls Piper. "Aim."

He closes his eyes and waits for death.


	17. Drop Rule

**Drop Rule**

_The rule in shogi which allows captured pieces to be dropped onto the board; that is, returned back into play under the control of the player who captured them._

* * *

"Fire!" shouts Piper.

To a man, the seven members of the firing squad lift their rifles and shoot.

Every single bullet sails over the head of their assigned target, missing him by a ridiculous, and clearly deliberate, distance. Mustang, evidently realizing that the shots have been fired and he's not feeling any pain, slowly opens his eyes and looks down at his unbloodied body in perplexity.

Piper is visibly incensed, although he can see by the bewildered expression on Mustang's face that he has no idea what's happening. A light rain begins to fall. "What the blazes are you doing?" Piper calls across the parade grounds. "I'll have you all discharged for insubordination!"

The tallest member of the firing squad reaches up and pulls off his mask, and as the bushy dark blond hair comes into evidence, Havoc gives the traitor a grin. "Sorry, sir," he calls back, "but we've been given orders to ignore anything that comes out of your mouth!" He looks over at the Chief, whose eyes grow wide with shock and delight as Breda, Becky, Douglas, Ross, and Brosh unmask themselves too. "You okay, boss?"

"And you say  _I_  have a flair for the dramatic?" Mustang shouts back. "That's some timing, Havoc!"

"We learned from the best! Douglas, Brosh, hurry and untie him!"

"Rebels!" Piper shouts. He turns to his MPs. "Shoot every last one of them!"

"Wait!" yells Breda, and the MPs are evidently brought up short by the seriousness of the shorter man's tone. "We have incontrovertible proof of Mustang's innocence! You can't kill him!"

"That's impossible," Piper declares. "You're lying!"

"Oh, yeah? See for yourself!" He gestures to the seventh member of the firing squad, the one who has not yet removed his mask. Mustang stares as the mask comes off, and seems ready to faint on the spot.

" _Fuhrer Grandfather?_ " he blurts, using his wife's pet name for the old man.

"Stand down!" shouts Grumman, and the dumbfounded MPs lower their weapons. Havoc fully expects that this will be the end of it, but what happens next shocks them all.

"I said shoot, you cowards!" Piper rages.

"But sir! That's the  _Fuhrer_  - he's alive! If he's alive, Mustang can't have murdered him!" protests one soldier.

"I can see that, you idiot.  _Shoot him first!_ "

"Treason!" shouts someone; Havoc's not entirely sure who. Piper, however, yanks a gun out of one soldier's hands and fires down into the parade grounds. His aim is wild and uncontrolled, so he hits nothing but dirt. Two of the MPs attempt to take him down and, to the onlookers' horror, he shoots them without a second thought. He then turns and aims at them again, this time clearly setting his sights on Grumman.

A screech of tires interrupts the proceedings as a military-issue truck thunders onto the grounds and swerves to a halt, shielding the "rebels" from Piper's view. "Get in!"

"Falman, who the hell taught you how to drive?" Mustang yells, helping Grumman into the backseat and covering him carefully. "My God, you guys are a sight for sore eyes!"

"Tell us later, we're still taking fire!" The MPs are still struggling to stop Piper's rampage, and he's meanwhile getting in a few shots in their direction. They barely get the door closed before Falman hits the gas pedal and tears out of the area.

* * *

"Okay, so does someone want to explain to me what exactly is going on?" Mustang asks as they leave the parade grounds behind.

"Short version - we all deserted our posts to come back and stop your execution," says Breda. "Once we got back to Central, we met up with Fullmetal, and General Armstrong held a big meeting at her family mansion. Turns out she called Miles in Ishval and had him round up your supporters there to bring them here to help."

"Which is how we got here," Douglas interjects, pointing to himself, Ross, and Brosh.

"She sent Miles to find Madame Christmas, since she'd been missing since your arrest, and he came back with both Madame and the Fuhrer."

"Which begs the question of where  _you've_  been all this time, sir," Mustang says, turning to his grandfather-in-law.

"With your mother. I wasn't in the office when it blew," he clarifies, smiling in his benign way. "But I was near enough that I got hurt by the blast, and I knew at once that it was sabotage. So I got out through the sewers and made my way to your mother's place. She's been helping me recover. I've been following the situation," he adds, "and I would have announced sooner that I was still alive, but with both you and Riza in the enemy's grip I was afraid of what might happen. When you were sentenced to death I knew I had to act, but it wasn't until Lieutenant Colonel Miles showed up that I was aware that our allies had returned to Central."

"By that point," Havoc says, "we decided to just hijack the execution and see if we could take down Piper at the same time. I didn't expect him to try to kill the Fuhrer, but then again, after what General Armstrong told us, I guess we should have been prepared for the possibility. So we had Falman on standby with the getaway vehicle, and he knew to come get us if he heard shelling."

"This is a little crazy." Mustang shakes his head, running a trembling hand over his face and chuckling. His aspect changes, suddenly, as he's seized with evident fear. "What about Riza?"

"General Armstrong and Fullmetal are getting her out of the mansion," Havoc assures him. "She'll be fine."

He visibly relaxes, his countenance once again growing businesslike. "So what now?"

"We head for Central Command to show the higher-ups that our fearless leader is still alive, thus proving your innocence and - one would assume - overturning your conviction."

"I don't know how many members of High Command are in on this," Mustang warns them. "Acheron himself said that Hakuro was innocent - he was just a dupe - but he didn't say anything about anybody else."

"Well, we've got some friends waiting for us there."

"Miles?"

"Miles, Armstrong, Fuery, the rest of your team from Ishval - it's a big old reunion."

* * *

"General Mustang!" wails Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong. "The plan was a success and you're alive! I cannot begin to express my relief!" Everyone is collected on the stairs leading up into Central Command.

"Express it later," Mustang says shortly. "We've got another  _coup_ to perform. It's great to see you all and I can't thank you enough for what you've done, but for now, let's leave it at that. Miles, what's the status?"

"I haven't heard anything from General Armstrong or Fullmetal," he says, frowning. "They went to the executive residence to retrieve Colonel Mustang but there's been no sign of them. I do have some interesting news, however."

"Interesting good or interesting bad?"

"You tell me." He smiles. "A certain party from Xing is approaching the city."

"Alphonse?"

"Indeed. It's possible that Fullmetal's gone to bring his brother up to speed on what's happening, which will be an asset if things get ugly."

"Which I think they just did," says Fuery. "Look!"

A handful of soldiers come spilling out of the main entrance of Central Command, aiming rifles at the allies. "Give yourselves up," one of them shouts. "We don't want to hurt you."

"Stand down!" snaps Grumman.

That, at least, gives them pause. "Fuhrer  _Grumman_?"

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"Hold them there!" shouts Piper's voice. They turn and see him exiting a vehicle, still carrying a gun; Havoc wonders about the fate of the MPs who fought him, and feels a little sick. "Many apologies, Fuhrer Grumman, but as you've been declared legally dead, you no longer have authority over these men."

"Is that true?" Ross wonders.

"It's a  _very_ loose interpretation of the law," Falman muses, "but... I suppose an argument could be made for the veracity of the statement."

"Even so," Breda protests, "the fact that he's standing here proves that General Mustang didn't murder him."

The soldiers behind them seem very confused; Havoc supposes that if he were in their position, he wouldn't quite know what to do either. However, more soldiers - several more - are emerging from the crevices of the spiderweb-shaped city, and the way they hold their weapons indicates that they are far less uncertain. These are Piper's men, or rather, Acheron's men; either way, they are  _not_  friendly.

"Now," says Piper, "we continue with the aborted execution. As deserters and therefore traitors to Amestris, you can all share in your commander's fate."

"Not so fast!"

"Ladyship, you're safe! Thank Ishvara," says Miles, almost sagging with relief at the sight of the blonde General.

* * *

Olivier Mira Armstrong emerges into sight, seemingly from out of nowhere, looking cool and effortlessly beautiful. With impossible dignity, she addresses herself to Piper. "As I said to Mustang only a few days ago, I've killed better men than you in my sleep."

"Well, if it isn't the stunning Northern Wall of Briggs," he replies genially. "Have you thrown your lot in with these turncoats?"

"I'm afraid so." Her hand is on the pommel of her sword.

"Suit yourself." And as she starts to draw the fabled weapon, he snaps his fingers. The three soldiers standing closest to him, evidently his more loyal followers, lift their rifles and hold them mere inches from her face. She pauses, trying to assess the situation.

"This is your only warning," Piper announces. "Drop your weapons or I'll kill her too."

"Don't be stupid!" she calls. "Shoot the bastard!"

"Ah, Lieutenant General," he sighs, "you overestimate them. These are not your Briggs Bears. These are Mustang's followers - they are men of  _mercy_. Weapons on the ground, turncoats, or the General dies now."

"Do it," Mustang says shortly. Hesitantly, they comply.

"Mustang, you jackass! He'll kill me anyway!"

"Not yet," he replies. "You're a bit too valuable to kill. Now, let me see. We have the chainsmoking sniper and his perky little fiancee; we have the pot-bellied strategist; we have the walking dictionary and the shrimpy radio nut. We have the beautiful General and her adoring baby brother, we have his two pet Lieutenants, and we have the contingent from Ishval Command. Oh, and of course, we have the less-dead-than-advertised leader of the nation. An impressive little army, Mustang. But it does seem like someone's missing, doesn't it?"

Havoc glances at the Chief, whose face is impassive. His eyes, however, are flickering with anger.

"Oh, of course! How could I forget?" Piper holds up a little hand-held radio. "Do you know what this is, Mustang?"

"A communications device."

"Obviously. But more specifically, this is how I keep in touch with my men at the Fuhrer's residence. I need give only one instruction." He brings the device to his lips. "Kill the prisoner."

" _No!_ "

Piper laughs. "I didn't press the button," he says. "That was just to show you what I could do. Your Excellency, I'm afraid you and your chosen heir are too great a liability to leave alive. But for the rest of you, I'm extending a special one-time offer. Change your allegiance."

"Never," Havoc growls quietly.

"Change your allegiance," Piper repeats. "Throw in your lot with Mustang, and you die with him... and then you'll never know whether I give that order or not. But if you join me, that's the best chance you have to spare - what is it you like to call her? Your queen?" He chuckles. "I really don't have any desire to harm her, you know. I will if I must, but I'd like to give you the chance to save her life. Not to mention... the baby."

"Piper, your boss promised!" the Chief protests. "Acheron said they wouldn't be hurt!"

"He said they wouldn't be hurt by his orders," Piper clarifies. "But I do have some autonomy, you know, and you never thought to ask  _me_ to promise. So what's it going to be?"

Havoc glances at his friends - specifically, at the other three 'chess pieces.' He can see the same terror and uncertainty in their eyes that he feels in his own gut. Abandon the king to save the queen? He doesn't play chess, but he knows that's not the right move. Dying to save the king is the task of a loyal knight. But if he dies, he has no guarantee that he'll save either one.

On the other hand, if they turn their back on the king now, the queen herself will probably gun them down at the first opportunity. That's just the way she is, after all. And they would deserve it, for such disloyalty.

He sees in their faces that they've come to the same conclusion. In unspoken agreement, they nod at him.  _Speak for us all_.

" **No!** " he shouts.


	18. Dragon King

**Dragon King**

_A promoted Rook in regular shogi. However, in some variants, this is the name of an unpromoted piece which has the chance to be promoted to a piece called a Soaring Eagle, and in Mongolian chess, this is another name for the Queen._

* * *

It is perhaps a testament to Riza Mustang's courage, or maybe just the strength of her heart, that she is able to suppress her tears until her husband is out of sight.

The man she has loved since she was at least fifteen years old is on his way to be gunned down...convicted, falsely, of murdering her only other living relative. She clutches her swollen belly, her last connection to Roy, and starts to weep. But for the child, she  _would_  follow him. Hayate hops up, lightly, and wriggles into her arms, and she clings to him. He's all she has right now.

She has no clock in the garden, and she hates to wear a watch, so she can only estimate the time. In her imagination, she hears the shot that takes him from the world; she thinks it must be the sound of a heart breaking.

And she thinks, bitterly, that there is a certain justice to all of this. For as many times as her own bullets have robbed someone else of a beloved life, her turn has finally come.

* * *

"Where is she?" snaps the voice. Riza lifts her head, puzzled; she knows that voice.

"In the garden, ma'am," is the mystified response, and a moment or so later, Olivier Mira Armstrong stalks out into the flowerbeds.

"General Armstrong?" Riza rises, salutes, but the other blonde waves her off.

"No time for formalities, Colonel. We have to get you out of here."

"What?"

Armstrong glances back over her shoulder. "Things are about to happen that the enemy is not going to like," she says. "In shortest form, the execution is not taking place. Not today and not ever if we have anything to say about it. And as soon as the enemy figures out what's going on, it will probably become extremely unsafe for you to be here."

"Roy's alive?"

"As far as I know. Brace yourself - your grandfather is too."

" _What?_ "

"I don't have time to explain! I promise, I'll tell you everything as soon as I can, but right now you've got to get out of here."

They make a few necessary arrangements. The household staff are locked in the basement for their own protection; Riza gives a few words of explanation to Anderson, with instructions not to open the door for anyone unless she herself returns. She instructs Hayate to defend them - she wants to bring him with her but she's afraid of his getting hurt. Her holsters no longer fit, so she grabs and loads a rifle.

"Give that to me," says Armstrong, shouldering the weapon. They make their way through the halls. Anyone who dares to question the iron lady of Briggs is cut off with a withering glare. "I am escorting Colonel Mustang to her physician's office," she tells the guard at the property gate.

"Colonel Mustang isn't scheduled for a doctor's visit..."

"It wasn't a question,  _Sergeant_. She is unwell - in case you missed the memo, they executed her husband today. She needs a sedative that won't harm the baby. Now move."

* * *

They get into a car (Riza doesn't bother to ask where Armstrong acquired it) and as they drive, she's brought up to speed on everything that's happened. The men - her dear, devoted "queen's men" - have deserted their posts in Briggs and Ishval in order to save Roy from his fate. While plotting exactly what they would do, they were reunited with Madame Christmas, who has been concealing the injured Fuhrer Grumman from the world. "I'll let your grandfather explain himself to you in his own words," says Armstrong. "He had fairly good reasons for staying underground throughout the trial, mostly involving your safety, but I'm sure he'll want to tell you himself."

"That's fair enough, but where is everyone now?"

"The plan was to reconvene at Central Command once the rescue was completed. I'm assuming that's where they are. Edward Elric received word that his brother and the Xingese party were nearing the outskirts of the city, so instead of coming with me to get you like we originally planned, he's gone to intercept them and inform them of the situation."

They park at a distance from the command center and move stealthily, or as stealthily as a woman can move in Riza's condition, toward the action. Riza's heart comes into her mouth as she spots both Roy and Fuhrer Grandfather amid the group clustered on the stairs. They are outnumbered, though not by much.

"Stay here," says Armstrong. Leaving Riza still concealed, she approaches the scene. It's all Riza can do not to cry out when Piper makes the lady General a temporary hostage, ordering Roy's men to drop their weapons or he'll kill her. Frustrated at her inability to hear, she takes the risk of getting closer, using a military truck as cover.

"Now, let me see," she hears Piper say. "We have the chainsmoking sniper and his perky little fiancee; we have the pot-bellied strategist; we have the walking dictionary and the shrimpy radio nut. We have the beautiful General and her adoring baby brother, we have his two pet Lieutenants, and we have the contingent from Ishval Command. An impressive little army, Mustang. Oh, and of course, we have the less-dead-than-advertised leader of the nation. But it does seem like someone's missing, doesn't it?"

Ah. She watches him lift the little communicator to his lips and give the fake order to kill her. It amuses her slightly, knowing that if he were giving the order for real, his men at the mansion would have no idea how to respond. But she sees the fear in Roy's face and instantly regrets that little surge of humor; he's clearly terrified.

And then Havoc refuses, on behalf of them all, to switch allegiance, and her heart almost bursts with pride and gratitude.

"You made the wrong choice," says Piper with a sigh.

"I don't think so," says Roy, coldly. "You miscounted there, Piper. We've still got some other friends."

"Let me guess. You're referring to that little band of visitors coming from Xing?" Roy's eyebrows lift in surprise. "Oh, yes, I know all about it. I also know that the former Fullmetal Alchemist went to meet his brother. I had him followed. I really hope they remembered not to kill the Princess; that would make keeping the peace with her brother  _very_  difficult."

"Hawkeye," a voice hisses from nearby.

She almost jumps out of her skin, and turns around. "Edward?"

He puts a finger to his lips. "Come with me," he whispers.

She backs carefully away from the truck, keeping low, and he pulls her gently into one of the darker side streets - Central City is just full of them, she sometimes thinks. To her deep relief, Al and May Chang are waiting there.

"I'm so relieved to see you - Piper just told Roy and the others that he sent men to kill you!"

"Yeah, we know. But they're in a neatly alchemized little box of land," says Al with a chuckle. "That should keep them busy for a while."

"Piper knows  _I'm_  not an alchemist anymore," Ed explains. "I guess nobody ever told him about Al."

"What a terrible oversight." Riza smiles for the first time.

* * *

"So who does that leave?" Piper asks Roy. "No Xingese delegates, no Ishvalan rescuers, no other soldiers loyal to your cause...you're really in a bind here, Mustang. I don't envy your position."

"You don't think you'll get away with this, do you?" asks Breda.

"I have every reason to think that we will succeed. Look at yourselves! The last stand of 'Team Mustang.'" Piper smiles.

His glee is short-lived as the ground under their feet starts to tremble. The soldiers flanking him look down in confusion, which gives General Armstrong all the room she needs to get away from their guns. They don't even realize it, so bewildered are they by the tremors.

Nothing else happens, however, and the ground becomes quiet again. "Hrm. As I was saying, General," Piper continues, "you might as well face the fact that you are all out of allies."

"Not quite," Riza says.

She fires, then, her bullet lodging in the back of one of his soldiers' knees, and the rifle makes a satisfying  _ka-chak_  sound as she advances the magazine. She holds it protectively, like a shield across her swollen belly, and glowers at Piper as he whips around to face her. "Colonel Riza Mustang, reporting for duty!"

"You!"

"Al,  _now_!"

The ground trembles again, and this time, the brief shiver of concrete is followed by a full-on blast as large walls rise up on either side of Piper's forces. They are effectively barricaded into place, and only Piper himself is still visible. She raises the rifle and points it straight at his face; her own, she imagines, is a mask of pure rage.

" _You leave my family alone, you cowardly son of a bitch!_ "

* * *

What happens for the next several minutes is, she has to admit later, a complete blur. She manages to retain the major events, but details are somewhat lost in a haze of hormonal fury and mild nausea.

The sound of Al's alchemy brings ever more soldiers pouring out of Central Command - soldiers who see that their Fuhrer is, in fact,  _alive_ , and at once move to surround him. At first she fears that their intent is malevolent, but she quickly recognizes the formation as a protective one.

Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong, meanwhile, takes advantage of Piper having his back toward the allies, and subdues him with a sucker punch to the back of the head. "It's wonderful to see you, Colonel Mustang," he says in a remarkably calm tone.

"The same to you, old friend."

The reunion of the allies, which they're now finally in a position to properly enjoy, is heartfelt and a little silly. Al receives several hugs and is pounded on the back so many times his knees almost buckle. Fuhrer Grumman breaks free of the spontaneous security team to embrace his granddaughter. "Are you all right? I'm so sorry, my dear, that you had to endure all this...I will explain, I promise," he says, holding her tightly.

"I'm all right, Fuhrer Grandfather, sir. I'm just...so happy to have you back."

From the Fuhrer she's passed to Becky, who almost cries on her, and then Havoc, who she very nearly suspects of having a similar impulse. She manages to pull away from everyone else and slowly, with something not unlike nervousness, approaches her husband. Roy is just staring at her, and she thinks she understands why; just like when he was blinded, he's had every reason in the world to think he would never see her again, and now that he gets a second chance, he's not wasting it.

When the distance between them has been reduced to perhaps two feet, a small hush falls over their comrades. Riza ignores that fact and, after shouldering the rifle she still carries, lifts her (slightly trembling) right hand to salute her commanding officer. "Sir."

"Colonel." He returns the gesture, and for several seconds, neither one speaks.

Then he drops the salute, catches her face in his hands, and kisses her soundly.

Later, she will remember that this is the first time since their wedding day that they have kissed in front of an audience, which more or less accounts for the cheering that results.


	19. Collide

**Collide**

_To oppose a piece with the same kind of piece._

* * *

As he has had occasion to note once before, Scar owes them nothing.

To their credit, they expect nothing. Especially now, he imagines, they expect nothing except that which an unkind fate has dealt them. But now more than ever, he is determined to help. For one thing, this is an injustice, and there are few things Scar despises more than injustice. For another, he has long since reconciled himself to the idea that this country needs these two in order to become what it ought to be.

Therefore, when his friend Miles assembles the Mustangs' allies in Ishval and says that they are heading to Central to stop the execution, he determines to go along and do what he can.

They reach the Armstrong family mansion and reunite with the beautiful General who was the first full-blooded Amestrian that Scar ever respected. (He respects Edward Elric, but since he's half-Xerxesian, he doesn't count.) Plans are laid out. General Armstrong and Edward Elric will go to the executive mansion and free the imprisoned Colonel who is being held under the excuse of 'protective custody.' The old Mustang unit is en route from Briggs and will join with them to plan an intervention at General Mustang's execution. General Armstrong notes that she has already seen Mustang; her credentials allowed her to visit him in prison, and he has told her everything he knows about the situation, including who is behind it.

"We knew he would strike again," says Miles. "We just couldn't prove that it was him until now."

"As long as he remains at large, Acheron remains a threat," General Armstrong agrees. "The Xingese exile is less of a worry to me; by all rights, he's the Emperor's problem, not ours. I think if Acheron can be dealt with, his Xingese ally will back down. Amestris defeated him once already."

"What do you suggest?"

"We need to find him. It's as simple as that, really. We need to find him and we need to eliminate him."

"I think that should be left to me," says Scar.

"You can find him?"

"I was the one who located Colonel Mustang in the desert," he explains. "My brother's alkahestry research enabled me to track her  _chi_  and it was that which led us to her."

"I see." The General raises her eyebrows. "Very well. How many men do you wish at your disposal?"

"I need none of your men. It is easiest if I dispatch him myself."

"Just as you like." A household servant enters, and General Armstrong nods. "Dinner is ready. Mustang's men should be joining us sometime this evening. I suggest we eat, and then you can go and do what you need to do, Scar. We'll be counting on you."

* * *

The enemy is brazen, Scar must give him that.

He hides on the very outskirts of Central City, close to the scene of the action. The dragon lines of the earth lead Scar unerringly to the place of concealment - a hotel. It's one thing to locate the building, but to find Acheron's exact location  _inside_  the building takes more work. He deliberately bypasses the front desk, knowing that the concierge will probably be of no help to him; he doubts that Acheron would be so foolish as to register under his real name. Instead, he starts methodically stalking the corridors, inquiring with anyone he meet whether they have seen his "uncle," a white-haired man probably traveling in the company of a Xingese native.

At last, this lengthy means of investigation has a payoff. The men he seeks are on the sixth floor. This particular piece of alkahestry will not work on floors; the finding ritual only works on the ground itself, so he must narrow down the room on his own. It take some time, and several apologies to other hotel guests (apologies he feels awkward making), but at last he determines that they are in room 611.

He considers knocking, just to see what they will do, but he doesn't want them to have any sort of advance warning that could let them somehow escape. So he simply destroys the door. He'll reconstruct it before he leaves, he can do that now.

And there they sit, discussing their plans at the little table in an alcove of the room, only to stare in shock and dismay as the door is dismantled. "You are Acheron," says Scar, holding the gaze of the other white-haired man.

"I remember you," says the older man after a moment. "You were in the desert with Roy Mustang."

"I was."

"You are Ishvalan."

"I am."

"And yet you side with him? He who massacred so many of your people?"

"The world has changed," Scar replies simply. "I have come to bring the pair of you to justice."

"To the Amestrians' twisted version of justice, you mean." Acheron snorts. "You and I have much in common, but for our present loyalties."

"No."

"Oh, but we do. Sons of small, peaceful settlements that were demolished and assimilated by the Amestrian dogs of the military. What they did to my beloved Thesus is almost identical to what they did to your beloved Ishval."

"With that I will not argue," Scar says, grudgingly. "But I believe they have at last learned from their past mistakes."

"There we disagree." Acheron shakes his head. "They have pulled the wool over your eyes, my brother. They are not your friends."

"They are not my enemies."

"Really? You seemed to think so, once. Oh, yes," he continues, "I know all about you, the scarred priest. I know about the revenge you tried to take on the state alchemists. You made my job easier, with as many of them as you killed. I am told you almost brought death to Roy Mustang too, and only failed because of his beautiful sniper."

Scar inclines his head, acknowledging the remark. "A death that in the long run, I am relieved I did not cause. He has worked hard to atone for his sins - he was among the first to admit them."

"So he has taken advantage of your loyalty and sent you to defeat me. I am curious as to how he managed it, since by now he has surely met his fate."

"He did not send me."

"No? Oh, perhaps it was the ravishing ice queen from the northern fortress. I understand you feel you owe her your life, and I am told that she managed to visit Roy Mustang before his death. Perhaps he passed on his knowledge to her, and she to you."

"That is closer to the truth."

"You are laboring under some heavy delusions, my brother, if you think I am going to come quietly."

For the first time, Scar smiles, grimly. "I am not your brother. I had one brother; he is dead. It was because of his researches that I was able to find you."

"Ah, I wondered about that. Is that how you located me in the desert, as well, thus saving Lady Mustang from my incompetent underling?"

"Yes."

"I am impressed. But I am still not going to come quietly."

"I think we misunderstand each other," says Scar. "I am not here to detain you...nor to arrest you."

"Indeed. Perhaps you are here to join me? Or to make me see the error of my ways?" Acheron's eyes glint. "I would welcome you as an ally, but if you are only here to lecture me, you would be wasting your breath."

"At last, we agree on something. It  _would_  be a waste of my breath."

"You are here to kill me?"

"I am here to send you to meet God, yes. I will give you a few minutes, if you wish, to say your final prayers."

Something in Acheron's countenance shifts, ever so slightly. Scar sniffs; he smells fear.

"Think twice," the older man says. "Consider what you could do, in the new Amestris I plan to build. Consider how much you could make life better for your countrymen."

"You are not praying," says Scar. His voice is soft and dangerous. Acheron flinches. At the far side of the table, Dong Bao seems to be weighing his own options.

"I will give you one more chance to join me," says Acheron.

Scar adopts a pensive expression, considering it. The Thesian man watches him.

"No, thank you," he says after a moment, and seizes Acheron's face. Lightning blazes from his fingers one last time.

* * *

Scar gives Dong Bao an option - come quietly and carry the body, or face the same fate. Fortunately, the Xingese man takes the pack animal route, for which Scar is grateful; he isn't sure how he would get both their bodies back to Central Command otherwise. He carefully transmutes the door back to its normal state, and they leave by the emergency stairs to avoid being noticed.

They are detained at the entrance to the command center by guards who have been left wholly confused by the state of affairs. Scar interprets this to mean that they are now aware of Grumman and Mustang's continued existence; the plan succeeded, therefore. Good. "Tell the Fuhrer, and General Armstrong, that I have brought the body of their enemy," he says calmly. A wide-eyed private scuttles off to deliver the message, and returns a few minutes later to say that Scar and his quarry are welcome to join the group in the Situation Room.

He herds Dong Bao through the corridors, reaching the door and pushing it open without preamble. Everyone is at the table inside, and they turn automatically to look at him. He is, privately, gratified by the respect he sees in their faces.

"Ah," says the lady general, "I see you were successful." She grants him a rare smile. "You left the prince alive, I see."

"I needed him to carry the body."


	20. Komadai

**Komadai**

_A wooden stand where captured pieces are stored until they are returned to the game._

* * *

While MPs take Piper to the holding cell (where, presumably, he gets to hang around and trade annoyed stories with Sikorsky), Grumman leads the procession of allies to the Situation Room. Personnel are flooding the corridors, the word evidently spreading quickly that the report of the Fuhrer's death has been greatly exaggerated, and they line the walls, saluting and gaping simultaneously. Roy and Riza are right behind him, the exonerated convict scarcely less a subject of fascination, and are themselves immediately followed by the Elrics, and then everyone else.

Once they are seated around the great table, Grumman stands, steepling his fingers for a moment as he smiles at them all.

"First and foremost, you have my thanks," he says. "From everything I have been given to understand, your actions today have prevented what could have been long-reaching and possibly devastating consequences for Amestris, and also for Xing." He turns to the Princess. "Your traitorous half-brother has reared his head once more, and was involved in this plot. Once Amestris was in our enemy's hands, an effort would have been made to take Xing from the Emperor."

"I wish I could say I'm surprised," she says ruefully.

"I promised most of you an explanation when we were at General Armstrong's house," he continues, "and I know that you two" - he nods to his granddaughter and her husband - "deserve one most of all. You must be wondering why I stayed hidden for so long, allowed this to happen to you."

"I admit I'm curious," says Roy. Riza only nods.

"Let me start at the beginning, when the office blew."

* * *

_Grumman is in high spirits after his meeting with the Cretan ambassador. Setting aside the fact that Amestris is finally starting to find some kind of peace with Creta after so many years, he's happy to have his family in the city again. His granddaughter is healthy and his great-grandchild is halfway here, and now he and his grandson-in-law - his most trusted aide, his prize pupil - will discuss the threat that continues to linger in the shadows and how they might draw it out. He wants this Acheron character defeated before the baby is born._

_Piper is preparing coffee when he reaches the office. "You're about out of sugar, Your Excellency," he says, rising and saluting. He's all right, Grumman supposes, although he'll feel better when his own adjutant returns from bereavement leave. "I need to go down and get some more. Your papers for the meeting with General Mustang are on your desk."_

_"Dismissed."_

_Piper leaves the outer office and Grumman opens the door to the inner sanctum. He starts to cross to his desk, and then pauses. Something smells slightly off._

_He moves back to the corridor and looks around. There is no one in sight. Even the guards who are normally stationed in the hall are noticeably absent. There's an eerie stillness to the whole scene, and he feels a chill. He looks back at the door to his private chamber; it's still ajar, as he left it. He grasps the back of Piper's wheeled desk chair and gives it a good shove, sending it flying across the room to collide with his door and slam it shut._

_The explosion comes barely two seconds later. It's all he can do to drop down behind Piper's desk to keep from being too badly hurt by the flying debris, but it's not enough to save himself from a broken arm or some deep lacerations._

_Someone rigged his office. He thinks he has a good idea who it was - he had plenty of opportunity, after all. He wonders if the attack was solely meant for himself or if Roy was a target too; thankfully something delayed him. No time for such contemplations, now, however; he's got to get out of here, because if his saboteur returns and finds him still alive, he won't stay that way for long._

_There's a well-kept secret about the Fuhrer's office at Central Command, one that Piper wouldn't know. Groaning, feeling the pain in his aging and wounded limbs, Grumman pushes a half-incinerated bookcase until it exposes the room's hidden exit. He slips inside and, grunting, pulls the case back into position. There is a ladder here that will take him to the sewers - the Fuhrer's private mode of escape. But where to go?_

_He can think of only one place. Nearly an hour later, he's beating as best he can on the trapdoor in Madame Christmas's basement. One of her daughters pulls open the hatch and points a gun between his eyes, then retracts it quickly when she recognizes him. "Your Excellency!"_

_"Help?"_

_They keep him there, Chris and her girls. They set his broken arm, nurse his cuts, fuss over him in a way that, if things weren't so dire, would make him feel like a giddy schoolboy. Chris shuts down the bar, fearful that he'll be discovered. Her son has been arrested for the explosion, giving her a decent cover for the shutdown - it looks as though she's fled the vicinity. He feels terrible, letting Roy go through this - letting_ _**Riza** _ _go through this - but he's afraid to move. Roy's in prison and Riza's essentially a prisoner in her own home. If he reveals himself to the enemy, it could be very dangerous for one or both of them. He bides his time, waiting for the outcome of the trial, decently confident that justice will prevail._

_When he finds that he's wrong to trust in this, he knows he has to show himself. He can't let Roy die. But he can't just pop out and announce that "Hey, surprise, here I am!" He needs a plan. And as the hours separating Roy from his fate dwindle down to the last handful, he hasn't found one. With the allies scattered and no reliable way to get a message to them, he feels trapped._

* * *

"I can see why you didn't want to talk," Roy muses.

"Riza in particular was in a bad position," says Grumman. "One wrong step and it could have been a complete disaster. I thought it better to wait and see what developed. Make no mistake - I was not going to let you be executed. But until Miles showed up, I wasn't sure how to stop it." He looks at them gravely. "I  _am_  sorry."

They are, of course, generous with him. He secretly expected nothing less. They are too relieved - relieved to be alive, relieved that they still have each other, relieved to have him back and to once again be surrounded by the people they love - to be even a little angry. Inwardly he chuckles; they are just slightly predictable in their good-heartedness, and he wouldn't have them any other way. He is proud of who they have become, his greatest hope for the future.

Scar interrupts the proceedings, then, by forcing Dong Bao to carry the dead body of their longtime enemy into the room. As interruptions go, it's almost comical, especially when he gives his reason for allowing the exiled prince to live as simply, "I needed him to carry the body." Nervous laughter rings in the room when he says this, even though it's fairly clear that he's not kidding.

Princess May orders the Xingese guards who have accompanied her to Amestris to take her half-brother into custody. "My brother the Emperor will wish to deal with him personally, with Your Excellency's permission, of course."

"By all means, Your Highness."

Acheron's body is taken to the morgue level, and Roy suggests that they have Dr. Knochs come from Central Hospital to perform the autopsy. The cranky, toothpick-chewing coroner is about as pleased to see them all alive as Grumman would have expected, and he's even less delighted to be picking at the semi-charred remains of a national enemy. "Fine, fine, just leave me alone," he grumbles. "I'll bring you my report."

From the morgue, they make their way to what's left of Grumman's office, and he's amused to find that this has turned into something of a parade route. As they turn down the hallway leading to the office proper, the little procession comes to a halt. Soldiers line both sides of the corridor, and when they spot their restored leader, they lift their swords in the sabre arch. He proceeds down the hall, the allies in close formation behind his family, as the blades separate before him. It's a mark of respect, of welcome, of homecoming. He's genuinely touched.

The office, if it can even still be called that, is cordoned off so no one can go inside. They pull down the barricades without a second thought and take a good look around. "Roy, Alphonse," says Grumman, "do you think you two can do something about this?"

Between the two of them, they are soon able to alchemize the office back into something closely resembling its original state. It's certainly near enough that Grumman isn't about to criticize; the furnishings will need to be replaced, but the structural integrity of the room and the building has been restored. They even throw in a fresh coat of paint while they're at it.

"I suppose that as Acting Fuhrer," Roy says mildly, "I need to officially step down and return the control of the country to its rightful leader. However, when I was arrested, I was stripped of that authority, so I'm not sure what the protocol is." He looks at Falman, who generally has codes and subsections memorized, but Falman only shrugs.

"There's no precedent for any of this, General," he says. "Even setting aside the fact that you were the first Fuhrer Auxiliary in Amestrian history, there's absolutely  _no_ precedent for a dead Fuhrer coming back to reclaim his post."

"Well, if I don't hear any objections," says Grumman, amused, "I'll take back my job."

* * *

Riza is reluctant to let him out of her sight, Grumman realizes, but she needs to return to the mansion. She explains about how she locked the loyal staff in the basement for their protection. He dispatches a number of soldiers to accompany the First Granddaughter, including the Armstrong siblings, with orders to round up any of Piper's loyalists who still guard the property.

"That's going to be a bit time-consuming," he observes to Roy, who remains with him at his wife's behest. "Figuring out who was just following orders and who was honestly in on it."

"We should be able to get at least  _some_  information out of Piper, especially once he knows Acheron is dead."

"That's probable," Grumman notes, polishing his glasses. "You look exhausted, my boy."

"You'll have to excuse me. It's been a pretty eventful day."

"Yes, I suppose it's not every day that we both come back from the dead."

"I hope not. It would lose all its novelty." There's a hint of contrived innocence in Roy's eyes, and one corner of his mouth quirks the littlest bit.

It's good to be home.


	21. Prince or Princess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, did everyone place their bets as to what Riza's going to have?

**Prince or Princess?**

_Pieces found only in certain variants of shogi. The Prince, when present, essentially functions as a second King. The Princess, which moves like the Queen in a regular game of chess, is found only in the variant of shogi known as Okisaki._

* * *

Rebecca is intensely glad that the worst is finally over.

At the Fuhrer's insistence, she and Jean have taken up residence in his mansion for the remainder of Riza's pregnancy, to provide both protection and companionship to the First Granddaughter. He has placed her on leave for the remaining few months, wanting her to remain in Central rather than return to her work in Ishval. Roy, on the other hand, does go back to Ishval with Breda, Douglas, Miles, and the others who belong there. He commutes to Central on the weekends, and talks to his wife every night on the telephone, and neither of them is exactly thrilled at the separation (especially after all that's happened) but there's work to be done. The glass factory has to be reconstructed, the members of Dong Bao's clan rooted out and arrested.

Ed returns to Resembool, to the wife and son who have been waiting patiently for his arrival, along with Al and May. They all promise to come to Central when the baby is born, to meet the newest member of their odd extended family and (in Ed's words) so he can collect on his wager in the betting pool, since he's very certain that he's correctly identified the gender of Baby Mustang. General Armstrong, satisfied that she did her duty, goes back to Briggs in the company of Falman, who will come again as soon as he's able when the birth is announced - not least because he's holding the stakes for the gambling.

The Xingese soldiers take the imprisoned Dong Bao back to their Emperor, who sends his profuse apologies to the Fuhrer and his family for the trouble that the exiled prince has again caused for them. His exile is revoked; he will remain in prison for life, so he can do no more harm. Piper receives the same sentence, avoiding a trial by acknowledging up front exactly what he did and who helped him to do it. They put him in solitary confinement, just as they did Roy, feeling that this is the most karmic retribution they're capable of offering without actually sentencing him to death.

The biggest shock of all comes from Dr. Knochs, whose surly pronouncement on Acheron's death does answer one question. Scar himself had recounted how Acheron made no attempt to fight for his life, nor to flee, and admitted that he didn't understand why. Knochs reveals that Acheron was, in fact, already dying; Rebecca doesn't get the specifics, but he apparently had a fatal illness that would likely have killed him in the next few years, meaning he wouldn't have lived to see the fruition of his plans even if they had not been foiled.

"Do you think he knew?" she asks Riza.

"I do wonder. Maybe he didn't find out until after the plan was in motion, and he felt it was too late to turn back. Or maybe he knew he was sick but not that he wouldn't survive."

"Maybe he suspected he was dying, and he thought death at Scar's hands was better than wasting away with a disease," offers Jean.

"That's possible too. I suppose we'll never know for sure."

* * *

They pass the days in the garden when possible. Hayate chases butterflies, and Riza - growing ever plumper - helps Rebecca settle on wedding details. Eventually, however, the doctor feels that she's grown too heavy for her small frame, and orders the mother-to-be to be placed on bed rest. She's not pleased about this, not at all, and between themselves Jean and Rebecca, and Roy on the weekends, work to keep her amused, or at least preoccupied enough that she doesn't think about how much she longs to get up. They unfortunately have to miss Al and May's Resembool wedding because of her condition, which does nothing to improve her mood; she had been looking forward to the trip.

Grumman is exceedingly cheerful. "The baby's so huge, it has to be a boy," he insists. He's never had a son, nor a grandson, so in a way Rebecca hopes he's right just because it will make him happy. For her own part, she would really like a girl, so she can be the doting Aunt Becky and buy the child ridiculously pretty clothes. Riza keeps insisting that she doesn't care either way as long as her child is healthy, which the doctor assures her is the case.

"Well, give it to me straight," she says one afternoon, in between spoonfuls of the chocolate pudding she is currently craving. "Who's placed what wagers on which gender?"

Jean consults the chart. "Ed, Douglas, Breda, Grumman and I all have our money on a boy. Fuery, Armstrong - Alex, that is, Olivier couldn't care less - and Falman put theirs on it being a girl."

"How high are the stakes?"

"The pot's close to 15,000 cenz."

"You boys really don't have anything better to do with your money?"

"Hey, that's our prince - or princess," he acknowledges grudgingly. "The kid's probably going to run the country someday. So what's more important than that?"

Rebecca rolls her eyes. Riza just smiles, and shakes her head.

* * *

It's late on a Monday night - more accurately, early on a Tuesday morning - when Rebecca is awakened by her friend's cry for help. "I think it's time," Riza calls, before letting loose a wail of pain.

They've known it was getting close. The bag has been packed for days, ready for her to be taken to Central Hospital for the delivery. Grumman, half dressed, stumbles into the hall with a gleeful expression. "Well, let's get this show on the road! Havoc, call the father-to-be and whoever else needs to be urgently notified."

Riza groans, clutching Rebecca's hand as she walks through the halls. "Is this the part where you scream about how Roy's never going to touch you again?" Rebecca asks innocently.

Riza glares. "Don't make me hurt you. Right now I could strangle anybody I please and I'll get off scot-free because I'm a slave to my hormones."

"Sheesh, Riza, you are  _cranky_  when you're in labor!"

"I'll remind you of this when you're giving birth to Baby Havoc in a couple of years."

They get her into the car, delicately cushioned against possible shocks between her grandfather and Rebecca. Jean jumps behind the wheel. "The Chief is a little groggy, but he's on his way. He and Breda and Fuery will all be on the next train. He sends you his love, Ladyhawk."

"That's  _very_  comforting," she growls. It's all Rebecca can do not to laugh; she knows her friend is in pain but really, the faces she's making are excessively comical.

Grumman explains that at Central, they've prepared a private room for the First Granddaughter, and a gag order has been issued - no talking to the media without the express permission of the Fuhrer. The car is outfitted with a radio and Jean turns it on, trying to find something to soothe the irritable mommy-in-the-making. To their surprise, it's already being broadcast, somehow, that the executive birth is underway. All efforts to maintain composure are lost now, because Riza fairly explodes.

"Doesn't  _anybody_ in this country have  _anything_ else to worry about besides the condition of my uterus?"

* * *

Somewhere around the third hour of Riza's labor, Rebecca falls asleep in the waiting room.

She awakes with a start when the party in the waiting room grows abruptly larger. The clock on the wall indicates that it's close to dawn, there is still  _no_  news, and the anxious father-to-be and his entourage have arrived from Ishval. Grumman intercepts Roy's question before he can ask. "Nothing yet. The doctor says she's doing very well, but it's been a long night and your child is apparently already showing signs of being as stubborn as either of you."

They call Falman in Briggs and tell him to be on standby for the announcement. Someone apparently called Armstrong, too, because he joins them less than an hour later, and is considerate enough to not only pick up Madame Christmas on the way, but he even brings coffee for everyone. Rebecca isn't sure that Roy should have any - he's already so fidgety she's expecting him to wear a hole in the rug - but he downs a cup without thinking twice. In truth, everyone is antsy, but it's Roy who's most upset at not being allowed to be in the delivery room.

Breda, to help everyone pass the time, is dealing cards. Rebecca joins in and even manages to win one hand, but the stakes are pitiful and no one's heart is really in the game. Every time a nurse walks past the open door, they all look up, hopeful for news. Fuery has brought a camera with them from Ishval and is impatient to start using it on the newest member of the extended family; he keeps fiddling with it, trying not to use all the film taking pictures of the scene in the waiting room. Madame and Jean both look like they want a cigarette.

"What is going  _on_?" Roy wonders for perhaps the fifteenth time.

And at long last, as if in answer to the question, they hear it...the distant wail of a newborn taking his, or her, first breath. The General flushes, and then pales, and flushes again, and sort of covers his mouth with one hand.

"That's my baby," he says hoarsely. "It is, isn't it?"

"Think it must be," says Jean with a grin.

Sure enough, several minutes later the doctor finally appears, and he's smiling broadly. "General Mustang?"

"That's me," says Roy, stepping forward.

"If you'd like to come with me - and you as well, Your Excellency, of course - I think there's something you should see. The rest of you, please wait here."

Rebecca is beside herself, squeezing Jean's hand in anticipation. Fuery look like a child waiting for an exceptionally big birthday gift. "I can't take the suspense!" he says, grinning. "I'm quite sure it's a girl."

"Boy," Jean and Breda say together.

"Have they decided on a name for the baby?" asks Armstrong.

"They have, but none of us know what it is. They've been keeping it a secret. Don't know why."

The doctor comes back with the Fuhrer, although Roy is not in evidence. Everyone looks at them eagerly. "Well?"

"First and foremost," Grumman says, "Riza is just fine." There's a relieved cheer. "Now," he continues, "I'm sure you all want to know the results of the betting pool. So go ahead and ask me, I have my answer prepared."

This sounds a little odd to Rebecca, but Grumman's an odd sort of guy. Fuery decides to be the one to ask. "Did she have a boy or a girl?"

Grumman's eyes twinkle as he replies jovially, "No!"

* * *

After a few perplexed seconds of absolute silence, they start asking more questions.

"No? What do you mean, no?"

"That doesn't make sense."

"Where's the General, anyway?"

"General Mustang," says the doctor, raising his voice a bit, "is currently sitting with his head between his knees, because he almost fainted." They laugh, and laugh harder when they realize the doctor isn't kidding.

"I said no," Grumman clarifies, "because that's the right answer. No, Riza did not have a boy or a girl." His grin is something bordering on wicked. "She had a boy  _and_  a girl."

"That's why the General almost fainted," adds the doctor. "He's just become the father of twins."

Everyone is nigh squealing, now. Well, Rebecca certainly is, and Fuery isn't much better. The other men are trying to be a little more masculine. "Can we see them? Are they healthy? Do they have names?"

"Yes, yes, and you'll have to ask their father." The doctor glances down the hall. "Here he comes now."

Roy half-staggers into the room, looking almost intoxicated. "Twins," he manages, his expression dumbstruck but delighted. "Good God, are they beautiful."

"We want to see them!" Rebecca declares.

"You will. They're getting Riza cleaned up; she wants to see all of you too." He leans against Jean, who props him up in a brotherly sort of fashion. "I'm a father," he mumbles, stunned.

"That was sort of the idea, yes." Grumman chuckles.

"The girl has this head full of black hair - guess she's going to take after me." Rebecca's deeply amused, because this is the closest she's ever heard Roy come to _gushing_. "The boy's hair is lighter; might be like Riza's or it might get dark later. It's no wonder poor Riza had to go on bed rest, she was doing everything for three. They're so... _tiny_ , though. I'm almost afraid to touch them, they seem so delicate."

"What are their names?" asks Breda.

"Oh, right, we didn't tell you." Roy grins, his expression almost silly. It's like he's drunk on his happiness. "Our son," he continues, clearly relishing the term, "is Brendan, and our daughter is Riana."

* * *

Rebecca sits alone with a drowsy Riza, whose smile is vague and softly ecstatic. Everyone else is off making phone calls - to Falman, to Fullmetal, to Miles back in Ishval, and Madame is calling her daughters - while Grumman issues a formal statement to the media. Rebecca has little Riana in her arms, swathed in the traditional pink blanket, and a similar blue bundle is cradled in his mother's embrace. "They're beautiful, Riz, absolutely beautiful."

"Truthfully, I'm sort of relieved that there were two," Riza jokes tiredly. "I couldn't understand why I was so hungry all the time. At least now I know I wasn't overdoing it."

"Hi, Riana. Hi, sweetie," she coos, looking down at the girl. "I'm your Aunt Becky. You gave her such a pretty name, too... where'd you come up with it?"

"In a baby book. Roy saw that it's an old name meaning 'little queen,' and he said it was too perfect not to use." Riza chuckles.

"Well, that's what you're going to be, with these guys," Rebecca tells the little girl. "You're less than three hours old and you already have a contingent of loyal knights who would die for you. Nice work, kid." She giggles.

Said contingent reappears soon, chattering noisily as ever. Riza scoots over a bit so Roy can sit next to her on the bed and put his arm around her. He looks at her with so much love and pride that it makes him appear a bit dopey; it's possibly the first time Rebecca has ever thought of him as cute.

She hands Riana to her father and beckons to Fuery. "Come on, you've been waiting how long to use that camera? Let's get that family picture - you too, Madame, Your Excellency."

"Oh, right!" Fuery hurries to pick up the camera and move into position. Madame stands at Roy's side of the bed, Grumman at Riza's. "Turn Brendan so I can see his face a little better? Perfect. Hold still." He takes several pictures, so that there will be enough copies for everyone who wants one.

"So how are you going to resolve the betting pool?" Riza asks, allowing Brendan to be transferred to the arms of his great-grandfather. "Since, technically,  _everyone_ guessed right."

The men look at one another, somewhat sheepishly. "Well, we just got off the phone with Falman," says Breda, "and we basically came to an agreement."

"An agreement?"

"You only prepared for one baby," Fuery points out. "So we're going to take the money from the betting pool and use it to buy the second crib for you."

Riza's eyes are soft, and Roy is visibly moved. "That's really sweet, guys, thank you."

"Well, it was the only way to be fair," says Jean. "When we thought about it... after all,  _you_ did all the work here, Lady. So this way, it's kind of like you won."


	22. The Jeweled General

**Epilogue: The Jeweled General**

_The King_

* * *

_Three years later..._

"Grummy!"

Roy laughs as his grandfather-in-law enters the courtyard, only to be virtually attacked by a tiny army. Grumman calmly picks up his great-granddaughter, takes his great-grandson by the hand, and moves to a chair. Lucas and Fu sit on the ground at his feet with Brendan, while Riana - true to her name - occupies pride of place in his lap. "Story, story," the boys are chanting. Elysia, now almost thirteen years old and just as pretty as her mother, decides to join them.

Roy smiles, shaking his head, and makes his way to accept a drink at the little bar Armstrong has set up. His sister is reluctantly allowing Alex to make use of the family mansion to host a gathering, a reunion of sorts, including their friends visiting from Xing. The Emperor and Empress are sitting with Princess May, who is clearly in the final weeks of her own first pregnancy, and Winry, who is giving baby Lily a bottle; Al and Ed are walking around the grounds.

"When will our friends be arriving from Ishval, General?" asks Armstrong, passing him the glass.

"I expect the unit to arrive this afternoon." Roy hasn't worked in Ishval full-time in over a year; he usually visits for a week or so every other month to see how things are getting on, but Miles is doing an exceptional job. Douglas - now Captain Douglas - is working as his direct adjutant, and Scar helps out as much as non-military personnel possibly can.

"Yoo-hoo! Riza!"

"And there are the Havocs," he says without turning around, chuckling. "You're late," he adds, louder.

"Not as late as Breda," Havoc calls defensively. "He's taking his sweet time picking up his date!"

"Actually, he's picking up the Falmans. Their train from Briggs isn't getting in for another ten minutes. What's your excuse?"

"Uh..."

"On second thought, maybe I really don't want to know." Havoc laughs and joins him at the bar.

* * *

It's a good life.

It's better than he ever thought he'd have, in fact.

Grumman is discussing retirement. He's now been the Fuhrer for nearly six years, and as much as he doesn't like to admit it, he's feeling his age. Roy and Riza and the kids live with him full-time, partly because he wants to enjoy his great-grandchildren as much as possible and partly so that he can foist responsibilities onto the Fuhrer Auxiliary as often as necessary. What they've agreed is that, unless his health precludes the possibility, he'll remain at the helm of the country until the tenth anniversary of his inauguration, after which he'll seriously consider stepping down and letting Roy take over. The Parliament is enjoying greater authority than it has in decades, putting Amestris that much closer to being the democracy that Roy envisions.

Riza might still be a colonel in the military, but she spends a fair amount of time actually filling the duties of First Granddaughter; since Amestris has no First Lady, she handles the role of official hostess for state occasions, and occasionally represents her grandfather in a diplomatic capacity as well. She's going to be visiting the royal family of Aerugo in another month.

Madame's business is doing tolerably well, although it will soon be doing so without her. She wants to retire; she's sick of being on her feet so much. Grumman keeps offering to let her move into the executive mansion, so she can spend as much time with the twins as she likes, and Roy thinks he might finally be wearing her down on that point.

Fuery and Sheska, who had started dating after the events surrounding Fullmetal's wedding, broke up when he moved to Ishval to be part of Riza's security detail. Now that she and her loyal protectors are back in Central permanently, the bookworms have picked up where they left off. Roy's not sure how serious it is, but they're definitely kind of cute together. Breda, to his profound bewilderment, is meanwhile dating one of Roy's adopted sisters, a fact which tries to create mental pictures that Roy really does not want. Havoc and Rebecca just celebrated their second wedding anniversary, and spend so much time with him and Riza that he finally made them give up the expense of their own apartment and move into the carriage house on the manor grounds.

When he was a child, Roy always expressed disbelief at the stories that ended with "...and they lived happily ever after." He's still not sure he believes in such a thing. After all, nobody's happy all the time - not even him. But he's so much closer to it than he ever dared to imagine.

* * *

Breda arrives with the Falmans. Elijah and Vanessa immediately run to join the other children clustered around Grumman; like Roy and Riza's twins, every child in the extended family refers to the Fuhrer as "Grummy," and they adore him. He seems happiest when he's spending hours telling them exaggerated stories of his youth.

"All right, all right, gather around," he says, laughing. "Now that everyone's here, I have a special story for you. I've been saving it just for the occasion. It's a true story, and it's about some people you all know very well." A hush settles over the courtyard; it seems that even the grownups want to hear this story, and Roy has to admit he's curious.

"Once upon a time...many years before you children were born...there was a tall and proud and handsome king."

"I wonder who that is," Riza murmurs to Roy.

"King Roy was the ruler of a country that had many problems, because it had once been ruled by an evil man who spread wickedness and discontent wherever he went. The handsome young King wanted to make it a better place, so that all his people could live in peace and be happy. He led a group of very courageous knights who performed many brave and noble deeds, and saved the country from many dangers. They had many great friends, too, such as the Emperor and Empress of a faraway kingdom, and a Queen in the frozen north. But the King was sad. Why do you think he was sad, Elysia?"

"Because he didn't have a Queen?" Elysia has been listening to Grumman's stories longer than the other children, being the eldest, and she has an idea of how they go.

"Because he didn't have a Queen. That's right. There was a very beautiful lady knight in his company, though, and he loved her. The Lady Riza loved him, too, but she felt it was more important to protect him from the dangers that come with being king than it was for her to marry him."

A few knowing snickers are heard. Grumman smirks. "But Lady Riza," he continues, "had a grandfather called... Rummy." The children giggle. "Rummy knew magic. So he cast a spell on the kingdom that made it safe for King Roy to marry her and make her his Queen."

"I don't remember that part," Roy comments quietly.

"Then the King and Queen moved into the desert, because there was great work to be done in the desert. And while they were there, an evil wizard rose to power. He wanted to destroy all the good work that the good King Roy and his men had done. So he had his men kidnap Queen Riza's best friend, the lady knight Rebecca, and everyone went bravely to her rescue. But while they were rescuing Lady Rebecca, Queen Riza was lured into a trap, and the evil wizard had her in his clutches!"

Breda stifles a laugh at the way the children all gasp. "He's something else."

"What do you think happened then, Vanessa?"

"The King saved her?" guesses Falman's daughter.

"Unfortunately, no. King Roy was so sad over Queen Riza's disappearance that he fell into despair. He became very, very sick, and his loyal knights were afraid he might die. So they sent messengers to all their friends, asking them to come and help them find the Queen."

"So that's how that went," says Havoc, amused.

"And they came!" Grumman continues. "The great and powerful Sir Alex, and his friends Sir Dennis and Lady Maria...and the mighty but retired sorcerer called Fullmetal, with his beautiful wife...they all came to help. And the King took strength from the presence of so many friends. Then the mysterious warrior priest with the scarred face found out where the Queen was being held prisoner, so King Roy and all his friends charged into the desert to save her. But the evil wizard escaped, and everyone had to work very hard to find him."

"Then what? Then what?"

"Do you remember the Queen's grandfather, Rummy the kindly wizard?"

"Yes!"

"The evil wizard sent his apprentice to do battle with him, and everyone thought that Rummy had died in the fight. Then the evil wizard tricked the people into thinking that it was King Roy who killed Rummy, and a great trial was held. Queen Riza was taken prisoner again, and couldn't help him, and his loyal knights were sent to the far corners of the world where they couldn't help him either. All seemed lost. But then..."

"What? Grummy,  _what_?"

"Rummy came back!" The children gasp again. "He wasn't dead at all! But he was badly hurt, so he couldn't come back sooner. And the knights came back! They sneaked back into the kingdom, and they found Rummy, and together they all went to save King Roy and Queen Riza. Their friend the warrior-priest defeated the evil wizard, and a little later the Queen gave birth to a Prince and a Princess, and the kingdom was saved and everyone was happy, just as King Roy had always wanted."

"So they lived happily ever after?" asks Lucas, somewhat dubiously.

"Yes. That's exactly what they did." Grumman looks up, and only then does he seem to realize that the adults have been listening as intently as the children. "What? Am I wrong?"

Roy looks around, drinking in the sight of his friends - his  _family_. He lets his gaze rest on each one of them in turn and, as he feels Riza lace her fingers with his, he meets Fullmetal's eyes. The younger man smirks first, but then relaxes his features into a proper smile.

"No, Fuhrer Grandfather, sir," Roy replies, looking back over at the storyteller. "You're absolutely right."

~ _Fin_ ~


	23. The Fullmetal FAQ

When it comes to my longer fanworks, I have a peculiar habit; I like to finish many of my longer stories with an FAQ chapter where I provide detailed author's notes and answer questions which have been left in reviews or sent to me in private messages. Basically, I force you to do the textual version of listening to me babble.

As one of my coworkers puts it, I am blessed with an overabundance of quirk.

In any case, this is a joint one of those, for the entire trilogy. So without further ado, I present...

* * *

**The Fullmetal FAQ: About the Elemental Chess Trilogy**

* * *

_Where did you come up with these plots?_

In the case of  _Flowers of Antimony_ , I was at work (as indicated in the opening chapter) and I started getting images for a very disjointed story. I saw a few things clearly from the get-go - Roy declaring Ed's wedding an "international incident" was high on that list, along with Winry's wrench-laden bouquet and what she would do with it. The rest filled itself in gradually, over the course of a little more than a week of character-driven insomnia. Considering how close I came to ripping my hair out at certain points, I'm really surprised it came together as quickly as it did.

 _Brilliancy_  is another matter. I had absolutely no intention of writing a sequel to FoA, as I told my husband when he teased me about it. But as I put it to a friend of mine, the Team Mustang muses basically took my brain hostage and refused to give it back until I gave them their own story. Admittedly I can think of worse situations, but it was still very impudent of them to do this.

As for  _Three Generals_ , when I realized that  _Brilliancy_  had become more convaluted than I wanted and needed even more time to be properly resolved, the creation of a trilogy seemed like the only sane option. It was far and away the hardest one to work out, because for days I couldn't come up with a plot. I was literally struck by the idea for the murder frame-up while getting ready to go to my mother's house on Easter, and I yelled so loudly that my husband thought I'd fallen in the shower.

* * *

_Why the themes?_

Why not? No, actually, in the case of FoA I had the word  _quintessence_  in my mind from the start, and the story was almost dubbed that. I found the website I mentioned and looked up its meaning, and it intrigued me but it didn't seem right for the whole story. So then I thought, wouldn't it be perfect for the ending? And if I'm using an alchemy term for the last chapter, then they should all be alchemy terms! And as it turns out, alchemy has some  _really_  pretty terminology; I love words. Some of the alchemy terms worked for their respective chapters, like  _Aqua Regia_  for the chapter of Ling's wedding, but not all.

As for the chess theme, it seemed only right for the king and queen and their loyal pieces. Those terms all came from Wikipedia, in case you were wondering, and I tried harder to make them fit the chapters to which they were applied because that was a lot easier to do than it was with the alchemy terms.

The reason I chose shogi for the third theme is because it's a chess variant with a few alchemical influences, most particularly in the symbolic representations of some of the pieces - so it combines the themes of the first two stories in the trilogy, and similarly, their plots get connected in the final installment. Furthermore, shogi is more about chess than it is about alchemy, and  _Three Generals_  is more connected to the plot of  _Brilliancy_  than it is to the plot of  _Flowers_ , so it made sense that way too. Tada!

The reason I chose  _Elemental Chess_  for the overarching name of the trilogy is because it's the name of a chess set that was specifically designed to be a combination of chess and alchemy, so what could be more appropriate?

* * *

_How long did it take you to plan everything out?_

I admit that I laughed in my sleeve every time I got a review complimenting me on how well I organized and planned out these two stories. The truth is...I planned very, very little of the trilogy. Some stuff I knew going in, but not all, and in a very real sense it felt like I was making it up as I went along - or, as has happened with other fanfics I've written, it felt less like I was telling the story and more like the story was using me to tell itself, and I was as curious as anyone else to see what would happen next. My stories have a tendency to be smarter than I am.

Many of the details came as a result of me saying "Hey, wait, if I were the reader I would want this explained! I had better explain it!" An example of that would be Breda's "Zen state" (to quote one of you) regarding Black Hayate in  _Brilliancy_ ; I was trucking along merrily through that chapter and suddenly realized that Breda had been around Hayate all day without freaking out, so I needed to clear up why that was. (The explanation even makes sense in terms of the canon - if you recall, Hayate was in the sewers with Roy, Riza, Fuery and Breda on the night before the Promised Day, and Breda never flinched once.) I can be very selective about the reality I choose to accept, but I can also be insanely pedantic about needing even the smallest loose ends wrapped up satisfactorily.

 _Three Generals_ , however, did get some planning, mostly because the main idea was so tricky - and could have gone wrong so easily - that I wanted to make absolutely sure I knew what I was doing. But "writing by the seat of my pants" for the first two installments worked surprisingly well, so I made sure to do some of that too.

* * *

_Where did you get the names for your original characters?_

Simon Sikorsky and Paul Douglas were named courtesy of my friend Caroline. I was struggling to name them and she very kindly came to my rescue, and kept with the military's airplane theme at the same time. Sikorsky is named for the  _Sikorsky R-4_ , the first helicopter, and Douglas is named for the Douglas aircraft company, one of the three companies who joined forces to create the World War II  _B-17 Flying Fortress_. 

Andrew Piper, who joins the fray in  _Three Generals_ , was also named (by me) for a military plane. The  _Piper J3 Cub_  was the primary training aircraft of the Civilian Pilot Training Program during World War II.

Acheron, on the other hand, shares his name with both a Royal Navy submarine from World War I and, perhaps more appropriately, with a river in Greece; the Acheron was, in ancient mythology, one of the five rivers of Hades and was regarded as being 'the river of pain.' (For the record, no - I don't know how to pronounce it, but in my head I always say it as "ATCH-er-on.")

* * *

_Can I draw fanart based on your stories?_

I'm really excited that this was actually asked! The answer is yes, yes you can. All I ask is that you let me know where I might see the finished product, and - if it's at all possible - that you post a link to whichever story it is you're using for inspiration. I will then proceed to squee and bounce and gush and tell everyone I know to go and look at the lovely thing you did. And one of my reviewers at FFN encouraged me to have my own manga, so if you're interested in turning these stories into fan doujin, I'd be very intrigued to see what you have in mind.

Some people have actually already done art for the trilogy. Thank you, thank you,  _thank you._

* * *

_Is this really the end?_

Of the trilogy, yes. However, there is a fourth story,  _Triumvirate_ , which is a prequel set during the Ishvalan War of Extermination. It doesn't really have a plot; it mainly focuses on the relationships between Roy, Riza, and Maes Hughes. More headcanon, which I hope you'll enjoy. And then there's  _Notes From the Grandmaster_ , the fifth part of the series, which is an ongoing collection of side stories taking place during and after the main trilogy.

* * *

_Are you really Hiromu Arakawa using a fake name?_

I was actually asked this in a few reviews on these stories over at FFN. No, I am not. And I am beyond flattered - not to mention shocked as hell - that anybody would even think to ask. I mean... wow, guys, talk about greatest compliment ever!

* * *

**About** _**Flowers of Antimony** _

* * *

_How did you come up with the name for Ling and May's traitorous half-brother?_

In all truth, I found a website that listed Asian baby names, and I picked out a likely combination. According to the site,  _Dong_  means "from the east," and  _Bao_  means "precious treasure."

* * *

_Grumman is so much fun!_

I know, not a question, but such an oft-repeated comment that I thought I'd throw it in. Yes, he is. Quite honestly, the bachelor party chapter in which he pretends to be drunk was hands down my favorite thing to write. It came very naturally and I made myself crack up repeatedly. I was sorry not to give him a bigger part in  _Brilliancy_ , but I just couldn't bring myself to do it considering what was suspected to have happened to his only grandchild. (I was very close to my own late grandfather, and when I imagined him reacting to Hawkeye's supposed fate as if it had happened to me, I felt like a monster for even considering putting Grumman through that.) When it was determined that there'd be a third story, I knew I was going to have to make sure he pulled off some Badass Grandpa antics, because he's an awesome character!

* * *

_What was Roy going to ask Riza before the photographer interrupted, when she was tying his tie on the morning of Ed's wedding?_

Well, they had just been speaking of Grumman's decision to repeal the anti-fraternization law. Basically, he was about to ask if she'd go on a real date with him when they got back to Ishval. Of course, they were engaged before the day was over so it ended up being a bit of a moot point anyway, but rest assured, they had a couple dinners out before he got sick and delayed the wedding. It's possible that sometime I will write a side story featuring at least one of those dates. Extremely possible. As in almost certainly going to happen.

* * *

_Is the Xingese marriage ceremony you present here based on anything real?_

Nope. Completely made that up. The only things I really didn't invent were the cloth of gold and cloth of silver costumes; I don't know how common they are to find anymore, but in medieval times, cloth spun from real gold and silver was frequently worn by royalty on special occasions.

* * *

**About** _**Brilliancy** _

* * *

_What's with Roy and the potatoes?_

Okay, this requires a little explanation, and I'm not promising that it will even make sense. I knew that I wanted (or rather, was being coerced by the muses into wanting) to do the sequel, and I had the title and chapter titles picked out, but I simply could not find a starting place. I was at work, and I was straightening a display which included one of my store's cookbooks. This cookbook is organized by which foods are in season at different times of the year, and for some reason the display book was open to the beginning of the winter section, which features a picture of potatoes. Literally, I looked at the word 'winter' and a picture of potatoes and in my head this became "winter potatoes." Out of that came the immediate knowledge that Roy eats winter potatoes in Ishval and he's not happy about it, because he's tired of them, but Riza's the one who prepares them and that makes it okay. My sources of inspiration are many and varied.

* * *

_Why didn't Riza keep her last name when she married Roy?_

One of my FFN reviewers asked this. Well, for one thing, there's no indication of any other woman in the FMA universe doing such a thing. So while I did consider it, I thought perhaps it's just not something that they do in Amestris. And then of course, she and Roy have had their eyes on the prize for years, and well, "First Lady Mustang" sounds better to me than "First Lady Hawkeye-Mustang."

* * *

_How did you come up with the idea for who sent the coded message that brought Team Mustang to Ishval?_

Confession time: My reviewers forced me to change tactics! Really, you did. I posted the chapter with the message and was feeling all clever about it; that message was supposed to have had completely different origins and intentions, so I was just sitting smugly in my little fortress of solitude and devising the next chapter. And then the reviews started rolling in, demanding to know who would know the chess code outside of the group, and I realized that I had just painted myself into a corner. So I thought and I thought and I thought, and it occurred to me...there was  _one_ other person who could theoretically have known about the chess metaphor, and if he'd managed to pass on that information to a trusted source...the rest came tumbling out faster than I could scribble it down.

* * *

_What exactly was wrong with Roy?_

Roy's illness, the one that kept him from getting married when he planned, was basically a lot like scarlet fever. If you've ever read  _Little Women_ , you might remember that Beth was sick for several weeks, and afterwards remained under careful watch because it had weakened her. Roy was strong enough to fight his way back, but Riza and Marcoh were keeping an eye on the situation because a fever like that can have long-term effects and they were concerned about him relapsing. He became sick in the first place (toward the end of  _Flowers of Antimony_ ) because he was working too hard, and he relapsed because, after pushing himself harder than he should have to get the glass factory squared away, the shock of losing Riza was more than he could take. At this point, I'm honestly not sure Roy knows  _how_  to live without Riza. I mean, in the canon the guy was seriously considering human transmutation in order to spare her life, and I for one would really like to know what he'd have done if May and the chimera hadn't shown up when they did.

* * *

_Seriously, what in the world made those guys think that they could get Roy to start another war?_

They were banking on the idea that even if Roy didn't resurrect the Ishvalan campaign, what they did would create enough unrest in the East that it would make him (and consequently Grumman) look bad. Shaking Mustang loose would theoretically lead to Grumman being shaken loose, and the ensuing chaos would give them the chance they were wanting to conquer the country. Of course, when that didn't work, we had to have a third story.

* * *

_And the flashbacks?_

Just my headcanon seeing the light of day. I'm funny about stupid details; I actually thought to wonder what happened to Riza's groceries after Barry attacked, for instance. So I answered my own questions.

* * *

 _When does_ _Brilliancy_ _take place with respect to_ _Flowers of Antimony_ _?_

At the start of  _Brilliancy_ , the Mustangs have been married for just shy of six months. I was trying to give a clue with the age of little Lucas Elric (who, incidentally, was named after Luke Triton from the  _Professor Layton_  games). So figure that the first chapter of  _Brilliancy_  starts about five months after the end of the FoA epilogue.

* * *

_Why did you bring in Olivier Armstrong?_

I had two reasons. One, she's awesome. Which is reason enough.

Two, she was apparently extremely miffed that I didn't include her in  _Flowers of Antimony_  so she demanded to appear in the sequel, although I was able to persuade her to let me give her just a cameo until the third story. (Yes, my brain is a very amusing place.)

* * *

**About** _**The Game of Three Generals** _

* * *

_How did you tie the whole thing together if you made it up as you went along?_

Very carefully. I had a little help, too, most notably from my friend Janelle ("jellyjay" on FFN). Thanks also go to one of my FFN reviewers, "Velgamidragon," who corrected a small error I made in the first chapter.

* * *

_Does 'Three Generals' refer to Roy, Olivier, and another character? Who?_

Yes, there are three Generals - Roy, Olivier, and Piper. Piper is the Silver General, Olivier is the Gold General, and Roy is the Jeweled General. Originally, the third General was actually a reference to Grumman, who of course was a General before he became Fuhrer, but as I was working on chapter five the character of Piper appeared in my head, and I realized this was a much better idea.

* * *

_Was General Hakuro in on the plot?_

Nope. Whatever else you can say about Hakuro, in this particular instance he was completely innocent. He didn't even know Acheron existed. He just liked Piper and wanted to put in a good word for him with the man that he had already deduced would be the next Fuhrer.

* * *

_You evil person, how could you frame Roy for Grumman's murder?_

It was honestly the most intelligent and unexpected thing I could imagine for the final plot. What that says about me, I don't know.

* * *

_So Acheron and Dong Bao were in it together? How did you come up with that?_

That was a bit of help I received from my friend Janelle/jellyjay - she made a suggestion during one of our marathon email conversations, and it was just the hint I needed to unlock the rest of the plot. She is awesome.

* * *

_What was with the conversation between Armstrong and Miles?_

As you probably guessed eventually, they were speaking in code. (You don't think Roy's the only one who can use codes, do you?) She was telling him to bring Roy's men from Ishval to her family's mansion.

* * *

_What made you decide to have Riza get pregnant?_

Well, in all truth? My original idea for that firing squad scene had them  _both_  convicted and sentenced to death, although that was at a point when I was kicking around having them sentenced for their Ishvalan war crimes. And then my brain, which is apparently sadistic, pointed out that it would be even worse if she were pregnant when convicted, to which I replied that her execution would be delayed until after the birth. Eventually I came up with the alternate conviction situation, but Riza being pregnant stuck with me. We know from the canon that she would in all likelihood kill herself if anything happened to Roy, but if she were having his child, that would certainly stay her hand - and since she didn't have any reason to expect him to survive the firing squad, I thought that the pregnancy provided a good failsafe. And if nothing else, it would be worth it just to be able to add Pregnant Badass to the list of tropes invoked.

For what it's worth, when I started the trilogy I had no intention of writing in a pregnancy for Riza at any point. (Of course, when I started the trilogy I had no intention of it  _being_  a trilogy, but that's beside the point.) But I'm really glad I did, because I think this worked out well. As noted above, my stories have a recurring tendency to be smarter than I am.

* * *

_Why twins?_

I couldn't decide whether to give them a son or a daughter; there were compelling reasons for both possibilities. So I took the third option (to invoke yet another trope) and gave them one of each. Also, interesting fact: women over the age of 30 are more likely to conceive twins than younger women.

* * *

_Why the choice of names?_

I did consider naming their son for Hughes - but  _everyone_  does that! So I decided to go a different route. Roy and Riza are the king and queen of our chess set, so their children needed names that fit the theme. Thus, their son is Brendan, which is Gaelic for "prince." I couldn't find a name meaning "princess" that I liked, however (except for Sarah, but that's a character in my novel so I didn't want to repeat, plus 'Sara' was Winry's mom). Instead, we got Riana, pronounced  _ry-anna_ , which as indicated in the story is old English for "little queen."

* * *

**Credits, Thanks, and All That Jazz**

* * *

Of course, the number one credit has to go to Hiromu Arakawa, the creator of  _Fullmetal Alchemist_. Despite my having been in the fandom for a relatively short time, I have to say that this series has given me characters that I love just about as much as characters from fandoms I have been involved with for years. Obviously, anything you read about in these stories that you recognize belongs to her and/or her associates; I don't own anything except the original characters in the trilogy, a stack of manga, a Roy Mustang plushie, and a State Alchemist's pocketwatch.

Second only to Arakawa-san, I have to thank my good friend Andrea. She was the one who loaned me her  _Brotherhood_  DVDs in order to foster my growing addiction, and bought me my Roy Mustang plushie. The series is actually dedicated to her.

Props and thanks to my other friends who are FMA fans, either because they already were and they just waited around for me to jump in or because I met them as a result. I wanted to list you all by name, but there are just too many! Special thanks to Caroline and Janelle, who as noted above were directly helpful to me in the creation of this trilogy. Also, thanks to my friend Naomi, who has no interest in FMA whatsoever but very graciously let me natter at her about these fics while I was working on them; she was even the one who helped me figure out how to rig Grumman's office and the reason for his going into hiding.

Many, many thanks to a man who will probably never read this - my husband, Kevin, who is the sweetest and most tolerant person I have ever known. Not only does he put up with my crazy sleep schedule when I'm in the midst of a plot bunny outbreak, but he goes above and beyond the call of duty to do things like chauffeur me to conventions and keep our cats from nomming on my plushies.

Thanks also go to Vic Mignogna (the English dub voice of Edward Elric), for being so amazingly kind to me the two times we met in person this year, and Todd Haberkorn (the English dub voice of Ling Yao), for being awesome during our lone meeting and for even becoming my friend on Facebook. As mentioned in the author's notes, I got to hang out with them for a little bit during the writing of  _Flowers of Antimony_  and they are both just lovely, lovely people. I'm sure they will never read this and probably don't even remember who I am, but I wanted to thank them all the same.

And last but by no means least, thanks to all of my readers... for everything. You have brought no small measure of joy to my fullmetal heart.

_~Lady Norbert_


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